


Busted Redux

by ChelleyPam



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-10
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-11 21:20:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChelleyPam/pseuds/ChelleyPam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlotte Matheson got snatched up by one of the Militia's conscription crews and has managed to stay hidden in plain sight for five years.  Now all of that is about to change. </p><p>(The first incarnation of this story just wasn't working for me.  I thought we'd take it in a different direction.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** Philadelphia, Liberty Hall **

Lieutenant Christina Matthews stood up from the bench outside of President/General Monroe's office and straightened the jacket of her uniform before walking in. Being made to wait even when you had been sent for was not unheard of in the military. It was to be expected, even.

She hadn't seen Monroe when she and her men had arrived in Philadelphia with the reports from St. Louis. He had been busy elsewhere so she had left the dispatch with his staff. That had been almost a week ago. Truthfully, as much as there had been for him to go through, she had figured they'd be sitting on their hands for the better part of a month before he had orders ready to send back with them. She didn't even really expect to see Monroe today, but another staffer just handing off paperwork.

No such luck. Behind the desk was El Presidente himself. His head was lowered when she came in. She walked to his desk and came to a stop. “Lieutenant Matthews reporting, Sir.”

Monroe raised his head. She saw him pause but ignored it. She was used to it. The key was to act like she didn't notice. Other female soldiers used their faces and their bodies to get what they wanted, but she refused to whore herself like that. She wasn't going to have it said that she slept her way up the ladder. All she had to do was keep her head down until her time was up and then slip back into obscurity, leaving the Militia behind her.

Monroe straightened up, his eyes sweeping over her in appraisal. “At ease, Lieutenant.” She went into a parade rest stance. “I started going over the reports Dixon sent with you, when I noticed something about half of them. Do you know what that was?”

She was going to frown but stopped herself. “No, Sir. I have no knowledge of what was in the satchel except for the reports I penned myself.”

“Almost half of what you brought me were letters of recommendation from Dixon and your fellow officers. Recommendations about you.” He watched her for a response, but all she could give him was puzzlement. “You didn't take even a small peek?”

“It was not my place, Sir. The reports were meant for your eyes only.”

Monroe smiled. “You were conscripted, correct?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Colonel Dixon promoted you from a private to corporal to sergeant, then decided he wanted you to have the authority to command a unit of your own, so he gave you a field promotion to Lieutenant. Almost unheard of, for a conscript to make officer rank. Only happens with those who are above par in their actions and ingenuity. The reports he sent after that promotion supported his decision.”

She wasn't sure where he was going with this. She kept her eyes forward as he came out from behind the desk. “Now, it's well within the authority of Dixon to make you a lieutenant, however given that you were conscripted, it takes someone higher up the chain of command to promote you above that. That was why he sent all the reports and letters of recommendation. He thinks you've earned a promotion to captain.” He perched on the edge of his desk, barely more than a foot from her, close enough she could catch the scent of high quality whiskey and a subtle aftershave. “After going over the missives pertaining directly to you, I have to agree.” He pulled out his side arm, flipped it around and offered it to her, butt first. “Congratulations, Captain Matthews.”

So much for keeping her head down. This is what she got for doing her job. She swallowed and accepted the firearm. “Thank you, Sir.” She would need to stop by the Quartermaster and get a holster for it. “Do you have the orders for Fort St. Louis ready?”

He arched an amused brow at her. “All work and no play, Captain? No wonder you're so good at your job.” He got up. “No, I won't have those worked out for several days. Besides, you and your men marched two months to get here. Let them have a rest. And you should celebrate. I'll be at Harriford's with some of my officers tonight for a drink. I want you to join us at our table so we can welcome you properly. Your men will probably be there anyway. It is one of the more popular bars for the soldiers.”

“Yes, Sir. I'll be sure to be there. Is there anything else, Sir?”

He studied her again. She could feel the weight of his eyes moving over her. No reaction. Show nothing. Certainly do not shiver, he might take it as a good sign. “That will be all, Captain.” She snapped her heels together and turned about, walking from the room at a normal pace.

She waited until she was outside of Liberty Hall to release a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. “Well, damn.” So much for keeping a low profile.

When Charlotte Christina Matheson had gotten herself snatched by a conscription crew five years ago, she'd been terrified. With good reason. When she was younger she had no idea why her parents were hiding from Uncle Miles. It was only when she got old enough to hang around with other kids for hunting or fishing expeditions that she heard the stories of General Miles Matheson, the man in charge of the entire Monroe Militia and best friend to President Sebastian Monroe himself. She hadn't said anything to them, having trouble reconciling the stories of these men with 'Uncle Miles and Mr. Fishy' and had waited until she got home to ask her father about it. The truth had hurt, but she finally understood why they were hiding. So much so that she'd had the good sense to give the conscript crew a fake name when they grabbed her, hoping it would by her family time to run once they learned she'd been caught. No need to risk using her real name when the soldiers might be under orders to watch out for a Charlotte or Daniel Matheson crossing their path.

An enlistment was usually only five years, but her clock had restarted when her enlistment became a commission two years in to her run. Now she had another two years before she could slip away, and that had been contingent on not drawing attention to herself. Unfortunately she had been raised to always do her best at whatever task she was assigned, and doing her job as first a solider and then an officer apparently made her stand out. Either her fellow officers were lazy assholes, which was a strong possibility, the the fact she was a woman made her a rarity. If she kept this up the jerks would make her a major or pull a fast one and just not let her leave and instead roll over her commission.

“Way to go, dumb ass.” Nothing to do about it now. She sighed and headed towards the Quatermaster's office.

The Quartermaster was more than happy to outfit her with a holster for her new sidearm, as well as several boxes of rounds with a polite, yet firm admonishment to remember that they could not manufacture new ones and that her ammunition should be used as sparingly as possible. She'd heard the speech before. She'd given it to a few officers when she had started out as part of the Quartermaster's office. That was before a surprise attack by the Plains Nation which had ended up with her going above and beyond her duties and station, picking up the stragglers remaining from broken units and pulling them together into a coherent, working whole. That was what had caught Dixon's attention and what had gotten her out of a Quartermaster posting and into an active combat unit as a corporal. Her performance as a fighter had made her a sergeant, and eventually a lieutenant with her own squad to command. 

She supposed now she'd get a whole damn platoon. Great. It had taken months to whip her twelve squad members into shape. Now she'd have to crack some more skulls and kick some more asses to get three to four more squads working how she wanted them to, not to mention the lieutenants who'd be assigned to her.

She made her way to the barracks her men were assigned while in Philly. She knew they'd stayed out late drinking and getting to know the local prostitutes. She didn't mind them going to pros, or being with girls who were willing. It was the rape and assault that other officers let their men get away with that pissed her off. That she wouldn't tolerate, and her men had learned it well. 

The open room smelled of stale booze, sweat and musk. She looked over it in the dim light, twelve of the sixteen bunks filled, one a little over-filled. Higgins must have come back early, and not alone. She walked over to the bunk and crouched down by the side where the girl was sleeping. She was a pretty thing, all raven curls and a cupid's bow mouth. Poor dear. 

“Hey,” she whispered, reaching out to tuck one of the girl's curls behind her ear gently. “Wake up.” Blue eyes blinked blearily at her. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but he's got a wife and three kids back in St. Louis.” Her head came up off the pillow and Higgins' arm, her brow furrowed. “I should know, he named the last one after me.”

That did it.

“Bastard!” The flavor of the night shoved Higgins hard, pushing him out of the cot to land hard on the floor. That started a chain reaction of complaints and moans of pain. “You're married?” The shriek even made Charlie flinch. Higgins clambered up. “Brenda, I can explain...”

“It's BARBRA!” She was wriggling into her panties, they hadn't bothered getting her out of her dress. Charlie held up her shoes to her and the girl snatched them before storming out on her bare feet.

Higgins blinked bleary eyed at the door where Brenda/Barbara had just left then up at her. “Why'd you go and do that, Ma'am?”

“Because you're a pig and you do not deserve Mary.”

“I'll take her. I like Mary.” Trent grinned at Higgins, apparently unaffected by the previous night's libations. That wasn't unusual. Trent never got hung over, no matter how much he drank.

“You keep your hands off my wife!” Higgins made to get up and lunge and Trent, but Charlie pushed him back down. 

“Then you try keeping it in your pants.” He flushed under her glare, then frowned.

“You're wearing a piece.” He looked at up her, jaw slack. 

Charlie rolled her eyes and heaved a sigh. “Some idiot thought it'd be a good idea to promote me.” There was stunned silence for a moment, then the guys started up with the cheering, in spite of little sleep and pounding heads. “Yeah, yeah. Hooray for me. On another note, it looks like we'll be here for a few days and I'm not letting you knuckleheads go to seed on my watch. Get dressed, we're taking a run.” That brought about groans and complaints, but she just smirked before leaving them to it. She'd teach them not to drink themselves stupid if it was the last thing she did.

** Philadelphia, Harriford's Bar ** 

Get soldiers together and give them liquor, and things got rowdy. She could barely hear her own thoughts over the roar of the crowd. Sure enough, her idiots were there even after she'd put them through the ringer today. Things were shaping up to look like another run tomorrow.

Her eyes scanned the bar, hoping that perhaps Monroe and his officers had either already left or had decided to go somewhere else. To her complete disappointment, they were still there. She recognized Monroe and the man next to him, General Matheson. The others were strangers to her, but those two were danger enough for her. 

What if her uncle recognized her? She hadn't seen him since she was, what, four? Surely there was little of the toddler from back then still in the woman she was now. 

Squaring her shoulders she made her way through the bar, or at least tried to. Some idiot grabbed her ass and she reacted before she could think. The yelp from the man as she sent her elbow into his face drew the attention of more than a few, including Monroe and his companions. She ignored the stares and instead turned her head back to look at her would-be Romeo. “I'm sorry, was my butt falling off or something?”

He clutched his nose, blood trickling through his fingers. He looked like a civilian. Good. She hadn't assaulted someone higher ranking, then. “No, Ma'am. I'm sorry.” He backed away from her and headed out the door into the night, allowing her to resume her journey to the table. This time people got out of her way. 

“I'm sorry about that, Sir. Reflex.”

Monroe was grinning up at her. Her uncle was hiding a smirk behind his whiskey. “No apologies needed, Captain. If you want we can have him hauled in for assaulting an officer.”

“I think he's learned his lesson.”

“Unless he's stupid.” He got up and pulled out a seat for her. “Gentlemen, meet the Militia's newest Captain, Christina Matthews. Captain, this is my old friend General Miles Matheson, and these two roustabouts are Captains Jeremy Baker and Tom Neville.”

She nodded in greetings to the men in turn as she accepted the seat. “A pleasure.”

Neville was watching her with a piercing, calculating gaze. “Congratulations on your promotion, Chris. Is it all right to call you that?”

“I've never had a problem with it before. And thank you, though if I'd known that was what Colonel Dixon was up to when he sent me out here instead of a courier, I would have managed to break my ankle or something.”

“It's been my experience that if you get promoted on the border it usually just means you've outlived the guy in front of you. But in my case I really don't want to have to work over a new crop of knuckleheads until I've got them where I want them.”

“I know that feeling.” That came from Jeremy who refilled his glass before seeing to Miles'. “No matter how well trained they come out of the camps, there's still polishing to be done.”

“Are you saying I don't know how to train my men, Jeremy?” There was no heat in Miles' voice or eyes. He looked rather mellow, in fact.

“You do, sure, did a great job with us. But these new guys aren't getting the benefit of your personal touch.”

“Yeah, well, that's what happens when someone decides to put you in charge of the whole damn show.”

“Wouldn't trust anyone else with the job, Bro.” Monroe gave Miles' upper arm a playful punch. Charlie was guessing they'd been drinking for a while to be this relaxed. Except for Neville. That man was probably still nursing only his first or second drink, keeping himself sharp. “Chris, here.” Monroe picked up the bottle they were sharing once one of the waitstaff had brought her a glass. He poured about three fingers worth into the glass for her and refilled his own. He set the now empty bottle down and it was replaced with a full one so fast Charlie almost missed the switch.

“To Captain Christina Matthews,” the other men at the table raised their glasses, “may you continue to be a model of all the best the Monroe Republic has to offer.” There were voices of agreement and glasses clinked before they all drank. The whiskey burned going down, she'd practiced drinking it in St. Louis because with officers there was always something to celebrate. Or a poker game. She'd learned to drink it well enough she could pass, but she never let herself get drunk. She and Neville had that in common, it would seem.

“So, Chris,” Jeremy looked over in her direction, “how are things out on the border?”

“Up and down. Fortunately the Plains Nation is so fragmented that they rarely managed a cohesive attack. Sometimes you'll get a few tribes banding together for an actual planned run, and that might pin you down for a week or so, but most of the men we lose are during tax runs. They get hit between settlements while they're away from the forts and garrisons.”

“Just like the Wild West, with soldiers and Indians.”

“Don't let them hear you say that.”

Jeremy frowned. “Who?”

“The Indians. The real ones.” She turned her glass absently. “Before I made lieutenant I was sent with a few others on an intelligence run across the border, towards the northern part of the region. We ran into the Lakota, stayed with them for a few days as their guests, mainly because we'd never seen any of them working with the 'tribes' that hit the borders. Turns out most of the real Indian tribes don't care for what they call the 'pretenders'. Keep their distance from them and don't allow them into their territory.”

Miles had a thoughtful look on his face. “I remember that report. That's why Dixon made you a lieutenant.”

Monroe pointed to Miles, glass still in his hand as he recalled it as well. “That's right. It was her idea to stay and talk instead of just attacking.” He turned his attention towards her. “You got us a better insight as to how things are laid out in the Plains Nation. Thanks to you, we know that if we decide to just go in and take it we likely can get some support from the original tribes. As long as we let them keep their territories.”

Right, she'd forgotten about that part. Again, not doing so well with keeping her head down. Damn it. 

There was a noise from the bar and all heads turned. She groaned when she saw Trent standing in a chair, rapping a spoon against his glass. “Attention. May I have your attention, please.”

“You know that guy?” Jeremy was watching the soldier curiously.

“Ignore him. He's drunk. He never looks it, but he is.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” Trent began in his honeyed voice that usually made panties melt right off, “it is not every day that your commanding officer gets promoted. Being a border squad, we learn to rely on one another, and on our CO, as though we're all family.”

Charlie closed her eyes. “I'm going to have to kill that idiot.” She heard Monroe chuckle.

“Now, I'll be the first to admit that I had my doubts about being assigned to Matthews. She has something of a reputation of being a little... strict. However, over this past year I have seen her go above and beyond to make sure each of us got home, no matter the odds, time and time again. Sure, she demands a lot of us, and just when we think we've done enough to win her approval she asks for even more, but she gives back just as much. So,” he met her eyes, ignoring her warning glare, “Captain Matthews, you don't just make us want to be better soldiers, you make us want to be better men. And though we may whine and complain and...”

“Bitch and moan like a bunch of teenage girls?” Take the hint doofus. 

“That, too,” he agreed with a nod, “even with all of that, we still love you for it.” He raised his glass high. “To Captain Matthews!”

The rest of her squad and many of the soldiers in the bar joined in on the toast. She knew she was blushing from the burn in her cheeks. She turned back to the table, trying to ignore the smiles of the men at her table. “Looks like another run tomorrow.”

“I heard about that. Did you seriously make your guys get up and run five miles after you left my office?”

“Yes, I did. I don't want them picking up bad habits.”

“How so?”

She met Monroe's gaze. “They're being sloppy because they're here in Philadelphia instead of back home. On the border you can't drink yourself stupid, because when an attack does come there usually is no warning. You can't be at your best if you're hung over and retching every five minutes. I'm going to teach those knuckleheads to moderate their alcohol even if I have to drag them to Hell and back.”

Jeremy laughed. “Damn, Miles, she sounds like you.”

Her uncle shrugged with one shoulder. “I like her.”

** Philadelphia, Liberty Hall **

She had a small thread of hope that Monroe had asked her back here because he had the orders for St. Louis ready, but she knew it was a vain hope. She doubted that he wanted anything official.

“I'd say you had a successful evening.” He poured whiskey from a crystal decanter into two glasses. Honestly, how did the top brass stay on their feet with the amount of liquor they consumed? “Even Miles liked you, and he doesn't say that about a lot of people.” She accepted the glass he offered but didn't drink from it.

“He doesn't seem as scary as the stories make him out to be in person.”

“Oh, don't be fooled. You saw him when he wasn't busy running a campaign or taking care of bandits. He doesn't get the chance to unwind often. You're lucky to catch him in a good mood.”

“Ah.” She tapped her glass nervously. There had been senior officers who had tried in St. Louis, and when she had shut them down some of them had gone out of their way to make her life miserable. Dixon, however, was a decent enough man and happily married. He got wind of what was going on soon enough and put a stop to it, even going so far as to demote three of them for 'Behavior Unbecoming an Officer”. He didn't fight her battles for her, he just laid down the law if they tried to punish her for saying 'no'.

But Dixon couldn't help her here. Monroe was the top of the food chain in the Republic. Maybe if she ran to Uncle Miles and confessed as to who she was? No, that would be stupid. She'd likely end up in a cell for her deception and interrogated for the whereabouts of her parents, which she didn't even know herself.

She set her glass down on a nearby end table. “You said you wanted to talk, Sir?” Please just want to talk.

Monroe gave her a little half smirk that crushed her last hope. “Let's stop being coy, Christina. You know why I wanted you here tonight.” He had moved closer to her, one hand coming up to toy with a short curl that had worked its way free of her braid. 

Charlie swallowed and licked her lips to moisten them. She tried to ignore how Monroe's gaze fell to her mouth. “Sir, I've made it a habit not to become intimately involved with fellow Militia members. I've seen that turn out badly for all parties involved too many times. And I'm not one of those who tries to sleep her way to the top.”

“If your CO was anyone other than Dixon, I'd have my doubts about that. But I know he'd never stray from Cecelia. I've seen the women who have tried, and I know the man has a will of iron when it comes to that.” He let his fingers trail lightly over her cheek and jaw. “But one of the benefits of being President of the Republic is that no one is going to say anything about who I spend my time with.”

No, they probably wouldn't. “Then surely a man of your experience would prefer someone who actually knew what she was doing.”

He paused, as if not quite understanding that she was trying to decline. His eyes searched her face, as though looking at something only he could see. Idly, he set his glass down next to hers. “You never have. Not with anyone.”

“I was conscripted when I was fifteen, Sir.”

“I'll have to remember to commend the officer in charge of the camp when you were there. Miles has had to deal with others who thought the female conscripts were fair game. He doesn't care for pedophiles, and a lot of the conscripts are even younger than you were.”

“He's sounding less and less scary all the time.” She offered a slight smile and moved to step back, but Monroe's hands came to her shoulders, stopping her. 

“Christina, there's nothing to be nervous about.” He pulled her closer to him. Damn. He wasn't going to let this go. He moved a hand to cup her chin, tilting her face up so he could plant a soft kiss on her lips, then a trailing line of kisses over her jaw and up to her ear so that he can whisper. “Trust my lead,” he tells her as he nuzzles her ear, “I'll take care of you.”

** Philadelphia, Liberty Hall, ten days later **

Charlie awoke in the now familiar bed, the weight of Sebastian Monroe's arm heavy across her waist. Every night since that first one she had been here. The first night or two had been mildly uncomfortable, but not horribly so, as her body had to learn to stretch and accommodate the unfamiliar invasion of another's body into her own. But Bass was a patient and considerate lover, bringing her to orgasm at least twice before entering her, either with his fingers or his mouth or both. Making sure she was wet and relaxed before actual penetration. 

She needed to get out of Philadelphia. She was fairly certain this had become a game to him. He'd summon her to Liberty Hall, she would arrive and inquire if the orders she needed to carry back to St. Louis were ready, and he'd 'regretfully' tell her that he and Miles weren't done with them, yet. Dinner was always involved, either just the two of them alone or with Miles there. She knew her uncle was aware of what happened when he left, even when he lingered longer, sitting there with her and Bass like a man visiting his friends who just happened to be a couple. Once she caught him smiling her way, a satisfied, almost relieved smile that left her puzzled.

She had to get away from Monroe. She didn't find his touch distasteful. On the contrary, she found him addicting. His kisses alone were like a drug. He seemed to have the unnatural ability to flavor his kiss with whatever he was feeling. Lust was the most common. A few days ago when he'd received reports from the Georgian front about a heat up there, she'd tasted anger and annoyance on his lips, and a longing to find a respite from the burdens of office. Apparently she was his respite of choice as he still managed to get them both to his rooms and get her undressed.

The men knew what was going on. And they weren't comfortable with it. She was infamous for saying 'no' and being something of a prude. Perhaps they could see it in the tensing of her shoulders whenever the runner came from Liberty Hall to tell her that her presence was requested. They were holding off on the drinking and casting dark looks towards the guards at the capitol building. She feared that if things went on like this much longer one of the idiots might do something stupid and misguided, like an assassination attempt.

She felt him stir at her back, muttering to himself as he moved. His morning erection rubbed against the curve of her hip and her body shivered on its own accord. He placed a line of warm kisses against her neck and the curve to her shoulder, mumbling a groggy 'good morning' to her. She hated herself a bit for relaxing into his body and enjoying the affection.

He coaxed her over onto her back, leaning over her so he could capture her lips. This morning he tasted of desire, hunger and... contentment. It was a sweet combination that curled her toes as one hand came up to tangle into his messy curls.

There was a solid knock on the door, snapping her back to her senses. Monroe growled at the interruption and turned his head to bark, “What!?”

The person on the other side hesitated. “Excuse the interruption, Sir, but you wanted to be told when the courier from the Georgian border arrived.”

Before she could stop herself, Charlie poked him in the bicep and whispered, “Be nice.” He swung his eyes back to her, arching a brow at her. She shrugged and whispered, “Sorry”.

He took a breath and turned his head back towards the door. “Thank you. Have him escorted to my office. I'll be down shortly.”

“Yes, Sir.” Footsteps hurried away.

Bass looked back at her. “Well?”

She tried to keep from grinning. “Good boy.” He growled and gave a playful, snarling bite to her neck, making her giggle. “Get off. You have work to do.”

“I was going to get off, but my job just cock blocked me.” He kissed her again before getting up from the bed. She was still trying to stop the giggles as she got up herself, looking for where they may have thrown her panties the night before. Before she could ask they smacked her arm from Bass' expert toss. 

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” Though he was trying to keep a light tone, there was a tenseness about his eyes.

“You're worried about General Matheson, aren't you?”

He met her eyes in the mirror. “Yeah. I know he couldn't possibly have made it to the front, yet, but he'll get there eventually.” He was buttoning his jacket. “And then he'll be right in the thick of everything.”

She knew the feeling. Every time she and the boys went out, there was a chance some of them wouldn't come back. So far she'd be lucky. She hadn't lost a man yet, though there had been some awful rough scrapes. 

“You know,” she started as she pulled on her slacks and fastened them, “with his sour puss the Georgians will probably wet themselves and turn tail the moment he steps on the field.”

Bass gave a single chuff. “Yeah, sometimes I think that's how he wins at least half his battles.” He turned around and watched her finish getting dressed before he came over to her and put his hands on her waist, pulling her into him. “Thank you for that.” He gave her a soft kiss that got a little deeper until she pushed him away gently. 

“The courier?”

He sighed. “You know, we've really got to work on your priorities. This all work and no play kick of yours is really robbing you of some fun moments.”

“I'm still not having sex with you on your desk.”

“Why not?”

“Your windows don't have any curtains.” He just gave her a wicked grin in answer. She rolled her eyes at him and turned him around before giving him a shove towards the door “Get to work, Mr. President.”

He did leave that time, letting her braid her hair in peace. Something told her that those orders wouldn't be ready today, either. Once she was up to code she left his quarters and let herself out to go to her men and see if they'd managed to be clearheaded for a fifth day in a row.

She got to the barracks to find them packing, and none of them looking happy. “What's going on?” Trent caught her eyes then walked over to hand her a sheaf of orders. 

“We're being sent back to St. Louis, to be appointed a new CO when we get there.”

“What?!” She looked over every page. There were orders for all twelve of her men, but none for her, and each one said that they would be getting a new commanding officer. “That overbearing, son-of-a-bitch.” She slammed the orders against her thigh, rage bubbling up inside her. “Stay here. No one goes anywhere until I say otherwise. Got it?”

There was a chorus of “Yes, Ma'am!” as she turned and walked back out of the barracks. She barely noticed that she was walking back to Liberty Hall, though that was her destination. The guards let her in without hesitation, a benefit of being the President's latest bed warmer, no doubt. The courier was just leaving as she asked the guard at the door to inquire as to whether or not President Monroe would see her. 

She was inside the office in less than a minute, the doors shutting behind her. Monroe smiled at her as she came in. “Any chance you've changed your mind about the desk?”

She ignored the tingling feeling that shot through her at the suggestion. “No, Sir, I haven't.”

“What's on your mind, then?”

She held up the orders. “My men are being sent back to St. Louis without me?”

“Ah, yes, I was going to discuss that with you later today. A position has opened up here in Philadelphia.” He leaned back in his chair, smiling. “You've done such an excellent job with your men I'd like to have you at the Academy.”

“The Academy,” she repeated. She lowered the orders to her side, tapping the paper against her thigh. “Sir, I believe when this started, I advised that I was not the kind of woman who slept her way up the ranks.”

“You were the kind of woman who hadn't slept with anyone. No one knows that better than I.” There was something dark and possessive in his gaze as he said that. As though he felt he owned her. Technically, since she was still in the Militia, he did. She tried not to think about that too much.

“Sir, if you put me at the Academy, no achievement I ever earn will be without the taint of favoritism, real or imagined.”

“You don't have to worry about that, Christina.”

“With all due respect, Sir, _you_ don't have to worry about that.”

Monroe paused, his brow furrowed a bit. “Meaning?”

“I see how the other men look at me. I hear the other female militia members sniggering and whispering behind their hands. My own men are two steps away from getting into all out brawl because they're furious over people placing bets as to how long it's going to be until you get tired of me.” She took a step towards the desk. “No one is going to say anything about you, because your President Monroe. You're the top of the heap. Captain Matthews is fair game.”

He seemed disturbed by this. Genuinely disturbed. “I hadn't realized that such things were happening.”

She pushed down the tight knot in her chest, refusing to buckle on this. “Everything I have accomplished since my conscription, I have managed on my own. From raw recruit to corporal to sergeant. Dixon only bumped me up to lieutenant because he wanted me to have the authority so that he could put a squad under me. He would have only pushed for me to make captain if he had intentions to increase that responsibility.”

His gaze grew distant. “Are you saying you want to go back to the border? Most people are trying to get assigned away from the front, not put themselves in a position where violence could erupt at any moment.” 

“I'm saying I'm more valuable to you on the border. Far more useful than in a classroom.”

“All right, I'm listening.”

That was a start. “Do you know why we there's a resistance against the Republic?”

“Because someone is always unhappy about something.”

“And sometimes they have a reason to be.” He quirked a brow at her. “I'm from the outer territory. I know what happens the further you get away from Philadelphia.”

“And that would be?”

“The further you get away from Philadelphia, the more the Militia becomes just as bad as the people they're supposed to be protecting the citizens from. If not worse. The outer garrisons don't just tax, they over tax. Don't believe me, check out how pudgy some of your officers out that way are getting. And the soldiers? They're coming out of those conscription camps thinking that being part of the Militia is to have a license to be a bully and to take whatever you want. Someone trips and falls in your way? Beat the crap out of him. That pretty girl doesn't want you? Push her against the wall, hike up her skirts and take what you want. That's why you have a resistance. Lack of discipline. Lack of morals. A lack of trust from the citizens in the Militia because from what they see, the Militia isn't any different than the bandits and the raiders and the chaos. I know this. I _lived_ this.”

He was listening to her, rubbing his lips with the fingers of one hand in an unconscious gesture. “What would you suggest?” 

“My men are good. Not just soldiers, but good men... with the exception of one idiot who can't keep it in his pants when he's away from home. But they didn't come that way. They were just as jacked up as all the others coming out of those camps, like the majority of the ones that came out of mine. I refused to put up with it. It took a few months but I managed to cram that Code of Conduct they all seem to forget once they get out into the field down their throats. When my squad comes into a town, the people know they'll be treated fairly. We show up and they know we're there to help and protect them. You let me go back to St. Louis, give me a whole platoon, and I'll start cutting the legs out from under the resistance on the Plains border. I'll start repairing the damage done between citizens and Militia, and the resistance will start to lose their supporters.”

He kept his eyes locked with hers. She could almost see the internal struggle going on in his mind. He didn't want to let her go. Part of her, a very large part, didn't want to go. But she had to get out of this city and away from him. She had to get out before he managed to consume her, until there was nothing left but what he wanted, only to be cast aside for someone else and left broken on the cobblestones. 

“All right.” He sat up and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. He started writing in quick, efficient strokes. “Bear in mind, this isn't want I want. But you've got me curious.” He signed the page and took out the wax and seal that would confirm it was from his desk. “I'll want to see results. If not, you're transferred back here.”

The knot inside her relaxed. “If Colonel Dixon was thorough in his reports, then he would have included that I always deliver.”

A slight smile jerked at one corner of his mouth. “I remember reading something akin to that.” He pressed the seal into the hot wax. She waited for him to hand it to her, but he got up from his desk instead and walked around to her. He held up the page. “I really don't want to give you this.”

“You'll get more out of me if you let me go than you would stuffing me into some dingy office at the Academy.”

“We'll see.” He lifted his other hand behind her neck and pulled her in for a long, branding kiss before letting her hand the new orders. “Have a safe journey.”

“Thank you, Sir.” She snapped her heels together before turning away and walking with calm, measured steps from the office. She managed not to run back to the barracks, but she did throw open the door to her boys' floor with a bang.

“I want to hear that none of you had to be told to pack my gear too.”

Trent grinned up at her. “Already in the wagon, Captain.”

“Good. Let's go before he changes his mind.”


	2. Chapter 2

** On the Road to St. Louis, 20 months later **

“You've got no one but yourself to blame. You're the idiot who let her go.”

“I didn't think she'd actually pull it off.” Bass glared at Miles as his friend started to laugh. “Okay, she pulled it off. I'll admit that the rebel presence on the Plains border has decreased significantly.”

“And?”

“And what? I admitted it. I underestimated her and she proved me wrong.”

Miles was grinning. “You're forgetting she also busted up a slave ring being run by one of the garrison commanders and uncovered seventeen officers embezzling from the Republic.”

“So she tied it up in a bow.”

“That slave ring bust up is making us look good. You especially. I hate to admit that my own men got that far out of control, but she has made a dent. Dixon took all the junior officers assigned under her and promoted them into some of the blank spots left by the ones we had executed for the thefts. They took the principals she instilled in them and are drilling them into their own platoons. They keep this up from the border and we do the same thing from the capitol, roll it all inward.”

“And cut the legs out from under the resistance.” Bass remembered Christina saying those words as part of her reasoning that he should let her return to St. Louis. He'd regretted giving in to her ever since. He should have made her stay in Philadelphia, but he suspected that would have been the wrong move. 

Miles rode his horse over close enough to kick him. “Stop it.”

“Stop what.” 

“You're brooding so much you're making me look like Little Miss Sunshine.”

“I should have talked her into staying.”

“But you didn't, and she's been a lot more valuable to us out here than she would have been back in Philly.”

Bass remembered her saying that, too. It didn't make him feel better.

They crested the rise and the sounds of gunfire and battle cries drifted up to them. “So what do you think set the Plains Nation off?”

Miles glowered at the battlefield still half a day's march from them. “Don't know, but I plan to find out. We'd better get these regiments down there or we might find our border moving.” He looked over at him. “Are you sure I can't convince you to ride back to the last garrison? Both of us on the front... not such a good idea anymore.”

“I'm going down there, Miles. This is going to be too spread out for one man to keep track of, and there's no one else you'll work as well with.”

“You get yourself killed and stick me with your job, I'll find a way to reach you in Hell.”

“Love you, too, Brother.”

** Fort St. Louis **

The field of combat had been pushed away from the fort, but there was still an excess of commotion in the corridors. Most of it was due to runners going back and forth with updates from the field and medics moving the wounded into hastily set up surgery rooms. 

Bass let Miles take point in getting through, letting his friend's cold demeanor and intimidating presence clear the way for them. People cleared for him, but people scattered for Miles. It would be amusing if they weren't on such a serious errand.

Dixon and core officers were in the war room. Everyone came to attention when they walked in. Miles looked at the map table, all humor gone from him in an instant. “All right, tell me what we've got.”

What they had was, unbelievably, a cohesive gathering of multiple tribes, not just two or three like they usually faced. Something or someone had gotten them riled up enough that they had united to hit the border. Bass frowned at the map. “Where did they get the stones for this?”

Miles shook his head. “That many tribes wouldn't have it in them to work together on their own. Someone has to be encouraging them.”

Dixon looked discomfited. “That would seem to be the case, General. The tribes are also using better equipment and weaponry than usual, though we haven't yet found out who is supplying them.”

“What's being done about that?”

“Captain Matthews was looking into it. She broke her platoon into the individual squads, had them dress in civvies and crossed the border to gather information.”

“Whose idea was that?”

“Hers, General. She and her platoon volunteered.”

Bass forced himself not to react. He wanted to yell. He wanted to teleport Christina right in front of him and shake her for taking such a dangerous assignment. When this was over he was dragging her back to Philadelphia and keeping her locked up in Liberty Hall so she didn't do stupid shit like this again.

“Well, let's hope they find something.” Miles looked at the map a bit longer, calculations and strategies burning behind his eyes. “All right, start rotating out the men we brought with the ones you have in the field. Let's get them debriefed, patched up and rested. Let's see what those on the front lines can tell us about what they're seeing out there.”

“Yes, Sir.” Dixon started giving the orders to his majors and captains that were present. Miles turned away from the map table and walked out, taking Bass with him. Bass didn't have to ask why, he knew that you could only see so much from a map and pins. Miles wanted to view the actual battlefield.

They made it to the top floor of the fort. Miles used his binoculars to look over the field below him. “Dixon's right, those guns are far more than what the tribes usually have.” He offered Bass the binoculars.

“Those are M16's. Where the fuck are they getting their ammo for those things?” 

“That's a good question. There's no way they got those guns and enough ammo to hold this siege for this long without outside help. Those were US made weapons. No one is making them now.”

“You think Texas is helping them?”

Miles shook his head. “I doubt it. They have enough on their hands with holding what they took from Mexico and keeping the riffraff from the Wastelands at bay to their North. They wouldn't be willing to part with that many guns.”

“And the Wastelands wouldn't have the guns. Who knows what California gets up to these days.”

“And that pretty much leaves Georgia.” Miles scowled. “Did we do anything to piss Kelly off, recently?”

“Nothing I ordered. You're the one she wants to castrate. Should have let her down easy.”

Miles gave him a look that clearly said 'shut the hell up' and took his binoculars back. As they were watching, there was a flash far off in the distance, accompanied by a roiling black cloud. It took a few seconds for the sound of the blast to reach them. “What the hell?”

“That came from behind their lines. At least a mile or two.”

“Maybe three.” Miles lowered the binoculars again. “Blast like that is rarely good for the ones being blasted. Let's hope it's good for us.” He nodded, seeming satisfied. “Let's get to work.”

They divided the field in half for the reports and updates, coming together when they needed to have both sides working in sync, but otherwise dealing with smaller threats individually and just keep one another apprised of what they were doing. 

In two days, the first of Matthews' squads reported in. The day after that two more arrived. Unfortunately one of them was the one she was supposed to be with, only she didn't come in with them. Her lieutenant was the one who reported, the squad's packs filled with ammunition they had stolen from a cache they'd uncovered, the rest of which they had blown up explaining the blast he and Miles had seen from their observation. 

“It was guarded by six men, two of them wearing Georgian uniforms. We tried to take a prisoner, but they put up too much of a fight. The Captain told us to stuff what we could of ammunition we could use and blow the rest so the enemy wouldn't have it. We brought this back to confirm the Georgian connection.” He handed over a sleeve torn from a Georgia Federation uniform, their colors bold and clear on the patch. Miles accepted the piece of fabric with a nod, though they'd need more than this before confronting President Foster. A prisoner they could interrogate would have been better.

Bass looked to the lieutenant. “Where is your CO?”

“When we got back she wanted a headcount. When she learned we were down a squad she handed me her pack, refilled her canteen and went back out to find them.”

Mule headed woman. “Alone?” He was going to have a word with her when she got back. She'd be lucky if he let her out from under guard within the next year. Was she trying to get herself killed?

“Yes, Sir.” 

Bass looked away, trying to calm himself by counting down from ten. Miles knew him well enough to recognize the sign of an impending outburst and dismissed the lieutenant. He waited until the door was closed before speaking. “You all right?”

“She went back in there after a squad of men that could very well be dead, alone. Into enemy territory, in the middle of an all out campaign, alone.”

Miles took a breath and let it out far more loudly that necessary. “Yeah, that's really dumb.”

“Extremely so!”

“Kinda like... a President who puts himself on the front lines?”

Bass stopped and gave his brother a death glare. “Don't be a dick.”

Miles shrugged. “Don't be a hypocrite.”

“You're not even a little worried?”

“Of course I am, but this is war. You lose soldiers in a war. Truth be told, she's probably more likely to slip by unnoticed on her own than if she had a full squad with her. She was in more danger the first time out. And I don't know if you've been reading the same reports that I have, but she's proven to have an insane amount of dumb luck.” He paused to take a drink from the whiskey Dixon had managed to procure for them prior to their arrival. “I want to see her back alive, too. Rolling out her ideas and methods to the entire Militia after this is over would be a lot easier with her than without her.”

Bass' jaw clenched. He wanted to hit something, but Miles would just give him a hard time about it. He wanted someone to shoot, but he suspected that if he tried to go out and join the battle, Miles might have Jeremy sit on him. Literally. His frustration must have been broadcasting loud and clear because Miles gave an exasperated sigh.

“What do you want me to do, Bass? Go out there and drag her back personally?”

There was an idea. “No, you're needed here.” He glared at the map table. Maybe he should change the subject. “What about these officers going missing? Captured?”

“One or two and I'd say that they were lost on the field. But six? Has to be captures.” Miles set his glass back down on the table. “Fortunately, none of them had any sensitive or classified information they could divulge. And now that we know they're targeting officers specifically, the changes in what information is dispersed to people in the fight will keep that from happening. It also helps that we've got them taking off any rank so you can't tell who's in charge, but that causes problems, too, as not all the soldiers stationed here and everyone we brought with us know one another. Forces us to keep units together and with others they know.”

“It's got to be a gambit to collect intel. No other explanation for it.” Bass leaned over the table, a hand on each side. “Only thing that isn't clear is if they're after a specific person or plan, or if they're just grasping at straws.”

Dixon came into the room. Bass met the man's gaze. “The officers still out in the field. Do any of them know anything sensitive?”

He saw Dixon run over the names inside his head. “I've pulled in my majors, their captains are handling things now. Took them off the field after the second officer vanished right from under his men's noses.” He considered further. “That leaves Matthews.”

“What does she know?”

“She's one of only five people who knows the locations and both has a set of keys and knows the security phrases for the bug out bunkers.”

Miles blinked. “Bug out bunkers?”

“Her idea. Three bunkers in three different locations. They're for civilians; elderly, women and children. The way she sold it, we kill two birds with one stone. The civilians are grateful for a safe place to evacuate the city if or when an attack like this happens and our men with families are more able to concentrate on what's happening in front of them if they're not worrying about their wives and children.”

It was a good idea. “She's behind enemy lines with that kind of information?”

“I've got her keys. SOP, based on what she set up herself. If you're leaving the secure area, you turn over your keys before you go. They're locked in my office. If you don't have both the keys and the pass codes, the soldiers assigned as security at the bunkers will kill you without question.”

Bass looked over at Miles. “That doesn't make sense. Unless they're looking for hostages to use against the men, that can't be what they're looking for.”

“Then we need to figure out what it is they are looking for and make sure they don't get it.” 

It was four days before her final squad returned. Bass had left orders to be alerted when Christina got back to the fort. Four of the men were wounded and the crew had immediately headed to the infirmary rather than checking in with the him or Miles. Monroe found her crouched down against the wall, her clothes dirty, torn and smeared with blood, her forehead resting on the heel of one hand.

“Christina?”  
Her head jerked up and she blinked at him in confusion. “Who the fuck let you on the front?”

Bass blinked at that. “Let me?”

“Ma'am.” Her head turned to see a soldier leaning out the door of the infirmary. His voice was a whisper. “Morgan's on duty.”

“Shit!” Bass watched her scramble frantically to her feet and turn to head away from the infirmary without giving him so much as another glance. He went to stop her when a deep, booming baritone of a voice called out.

“Captain Matthews!”

Chris skidded to a stop. Bass was quite certain she said, “Damn it!” before she turned around, her stance at attention. “Major Calder.”

The Major was one of the fort's physicians, and was an imposing man in his own right. Over six and one half feet tall he had the build of a pre-Blackout defensive lineman, all muscle and sinew. He looked like he'd be a beast on the battlefield, but good doctors were hard to come by making him far more valuable in his current position. 

“When I saw that I had four of Matthew's Maniacs in my infirmary I knew the queen bee had to be here somewhere.” He looked her over, from the messy hair that had escaped from its braid and was sticking in multiple directions down to the scarred boots on her feet. “You're covered in dirt and blood and you look like you got into a fight with an angry badger.”

“It's not my blood.” He arched a brow at her, looked her over again, then poked her hard in her left upper arm. She gave a yelp and jerked away. “Okay... that's mine, but the rest if all someone elses.”

“Uh huh.” He didn't sound convinced. “You know where to go.” Chris sighed and walked past them both, straight into the infirmary. “My apologies, Sir, but you seem to have encountered one of my least cooperative patients. I'd better go in there and take care of things or she'll just slap a field bandage on and make a break for it.”

Bass was intrigued. He followed Calder into the infirmary to a curtained off area kept for the female soldiers. Sure enough, Chris was already trying to clean her injury herself, something that looked very much like a hole made by an arrow shaft. 

“Cut that out!” She gave the doctor an irritated glare but stopped and hopped up onto the exam table so he could looked at the wound. “Arrow?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I suppose you pulled it out yourself.”

“I had Caleb do it.”

“And then I suppose you just splashed some water on it and wrapped it up, not even taking a moment to catch your breath.”

“We were behind enemy lines. There wasn't time to be picky.” She met Bass' eyes. He told himself not to smile at the irritation there. “Seriously, why are you on the Front, Sir?”

“Why shouldn't I be?”

She blinked at him as Calder studied the hole piercing her arm, thankfully missing any major arteries. She got off lucky. “Because you're a little important, Sir. 

“Glad you noticed.” Bass looked over at the doctor. “Prognosis?”

“She got of lucky, as usual, Sir.” The major looked up at the scowling woman. “You want a pain killer?” He sounded as though he already knew the answer.

“No, thank you, Sir.” She met Bass' eyes again. “Does General Matheson know you're here, Sir?”

“He came with me.” She rolled her eyes. He banished the smirk that threatened to touch his lips. “You disapprove?”

“It's not my place, Sir.” She hardly winced as the doctor injected a local anesthetic into the tissue around her wound site. 

“He's not here. Go ahead and speak your mind.”

“I would never let my CO put himself in such a precarious situation, Sir.”

“She's telling the truth there, Sir. Last time Dixon got it in his head to put himself at the front of things, the Captain here went to his home and told his wife on him.”

Christina shrugged with the shoulder not being poked with a needle. “I  
t worked.”

Bass locked eyes with her. “I don't have a wife.” He watched her throw up her 'professional' face. It was the same face she had worn whenever they had been among others in Philadelphia. 

“I guess telling General Matheson wouldn't do me any good.”

“Tell me what?” Miles came into the area, his eyes moving over Christina, assessing her status. Morgan was busy cleaning irrigating the wound to make sure it was clean. “Arrow?”

“Yes, Sir.” The local had clearly taken affect, because she wasn't even flinching. “You know if the President bites it, you have to take his job, right?”

Miles gave a shrug, keeping his expression serious. “I keep telling him that, but he never listens. It's like he doesn't even care what happens to the Republic if he dies.”

“Don't encourage her. She's already got the doctor here mad at her, though I haven't figured out why, yet.”

“Because the Captain here apparently still has an unhealthy attitude of invulnerability, Sir. She's cheated death and dismemberment so many times she apparently thinks she's immortal.” Christina's expression turned into one that clearly broadcasted 'You just had to get him started'.

“I feel you're pain, there. General Matheson apparently thinks the same about himself.”

Miles ignored that jibe. “So, Captain Matthews, I understand that you got all your men back alive. Again.”

“And we brought you a present, Sir.”

“I appreciate that. I have Sergeant Strausser examining my present as we speak.” Bass looked at Miles with a frown. “They managed to bring two of our missing officers and one of the Georgians back alive.”

That was good news. “Really. How soon before we can send a runner to Kelly?”

“I'd give him at least until noon tomorrow.” The exchanged a smile. Once they were able to call Foster out on helping, and perhaps even inciting, the Plains Nation, it was more likely that she'd pull all support rather than risk a head-to-head war with the Republic.

“All right, Captain,” the major interjected as he started stitching up the wound on the front side of her arm, “once I finish up here, we'll get you a shot of penicillin to knock back any infections that might have tried to set up because you're too damn stubborn to stop long enough for proper first aid for anyone other than your men, then it's a bath to get the rest of this blood off of you before it makes you sick and three days rest.”

“Three?” She sounded outraged. “One.”

“Three.”

She gaped at the doctor. “I don't need three days. One.”

“Three.”

“We're in the middle of a damn siege out there!”

“Three days or I have you sedated.” He didn't look up from his stitching. Her mouth shut with an audible click and Bass' brow raised in humor at the murderous look in her eyes.

Miles banished a smile. “Captain, you look like you haven't slept in days and I can see you're starting to shake from exhaustion.” She switched her gaze from the doctor to him, her expression one of betrayal. He didn't budge. “The doc's right. You're no good to me if you work yourself to death.”

“She's been that way ever since I met her.” Bass looked over his shoulder and motioned for one of the soldiers who followed him around at all times over. “All work and no play, this one.”

“Now you've got it from a general and a president, and all three of us out rank you. Do I need to call for some morphine?”

Christina glared back at the doctor. “No, Sir.”

“There's a good soldier.” To his credit, the major kept any gloating from his tone. 

The soldier reached Bass and he muttered his orders to him. The corporal nodded and hurried off to see to them. Bass turned back to watch a now silent and, well, sulking Christina sit obediently as she was sewed up.

Miles gave up on hiding his smile. She reminded him of himself a little. He was known for giving the docs a hard time, too. “Your men came in with extra guns as well as a Georgian, and there was another explosion behind enemy lines before you showed up. Another munitions dump?”

“Yes, General. We would have grabbed ammo this time, too, but they had captured my men and some of them were injured. The guns were lighter.”

Miles nodded. “Good call. Good evidence, too. We should be able to wrap this up sooner than I thought.”

Bass nodded. “Call Georgia on their bullshit, they pull their support of the Plains Nations, the tribes will break. We'll be back in Philly before winter.”

“And I can take a break from putting this idiot and her minions back together.” The final stitch was tied off and the excess cut. Morgan handed her off to a medic to apply the dressing and bandage. “Same instructions as usual; keep it clean and dry save for hygiene and say something if it starts showing signs of infection. Don't make me have to chase you down after hearing you're running around with a fever. Next time I won't be so polite about it.”

She gave the man, not only of higher rank but easily twice her weight, an irritated look. “Yes, Sir.”

“She's all yours, Sirs. Good luck.” He departed and the medic made quick work with her bandage before leaving as well. Christina started pulling her dirt and blood crusted shirt back on. 

Miles looked back towards the gap in the curtains that cordoned off the section of the infirmary used for female soldiers. “Well, I'd take you to an office for a debriefing, but I think that doctor would shoot me. I'll start with the officers you rescued and your men. You need to take care of yourself. We'll catch up once you've had your rest.”

“Yes, Sir.” She got up from the gurney, doing her best not to wince or show how exhausted she was. Miles had been right, there was a slight tremble to her shoulders and a drawn look to her face. She was practically dead on her feet.

Bass motioned for her to come with him. “Come on. Let's get you settled. You're a mess, Captain.” He saw a wariness in her eyes and pushed aside the irritation that wanted to bubble up inside of him. She had been like that in Philadelphia whenever she arrived to his office; wary. He'd always managed to bring her around, but her almost pathological need for discretion and secrecy was back in place once morning parted them and she had a few hours to herself. Now she'd had almost two years and he'd have to break those walls down all over again. “Doctors orders, Christina. I'm guessing you don't want him chasing after you with that morphine.”

That got her moving. He ignored the tense line of her jaw as she drew close enough that he could place a hand at the small of her back. He caught Miles' gaze and saw the acceptance in his friend's eyes. He'd be free until tomorrow. Miles knew how hard the past twenty months had been for him whenever he got the dispatches from St. Louis. Hell, Miles was the one who had paid for and sent over the prettiest blond haired, blue-eyed girls from the local brothels when those same dispatches put him in a funk so he could at least pretend for a little while that he hadn't been dumb enough to let her leave.

They turned down a corridor and he felt her shift in weight as she was about to head towards a door leading outside, doubtless to the officers' quarters. He slipped his hand quickly to one side and pulled her the other way. She looked at him, her brow furrowed. “My quarters are in the officers' barracks.”

“We're going this way.” He walked her thru the halls and up a flight of stairs to where the rooms kept in case he or Miles showed up were found. He felt her spine stiffen a bit as she saw the soldiers from the Quartermaster's unit leaving one of the rooms while carrying now empty buckets. They paused briefly and Bass ignored the surprised expression in their eyes at seeing her with him. He just ushered her into his quarters, stopping at the door to speak to one of the guards flanking it. “Tell my cook that I need him to send up two meals, preferably around an hour from now.” The guard nodded and took off. Bass shut the door on the still shocked local troops.

Christina took a breath, staring at the steam rising from the tub easily seen thru the open door to the bath. “That was far from discrete, Sir.”

“Fuck discrete.” Bass shrugged out of his coat. “I've spent the last few days wondering if you'd managed to get yourself killed. Don't even get me started on what I've been going thru the past twenty months, forcing myself to keep to our bargain when what I really wanted to do was yank you back home. I've waited long enough. I want you here, with me.” He watched her, the dirty, tangled braid, the careful way she held herself indicating that the arrow hole was only the worst of her injuries. “What did you think I would do?”

“Honestly? I thought you'd move on to someone else.”

“Like you did?” He saw her stiffen a bit. “I had to do something to keep myself busy while I waited for you to either walk back in or be carried in.” He approached her, his hands moving up to undo her braid. “My intelligence operatives are among the best. When you returned to St. Louis you went right back to your previous behaviors. Turning aside every pass thrown your way. Living like a damn nun when you weren't throwing yourself into your work. There was no one else before me, and there's been no one since me.” That truth stroked a dark, possessive part of his ego.

“I made my feelings about interpersonal relationships clear, Sir.”

“And I still maintain that there are perks to being the President.” He used his fingers to work most of the tangles out of her hair. “Here, let me help you.” He reached for the simple plaid shirt she had worn while trying to keep a low profile across the border.

“I'm fairly certain Major Morgan intended me to actually rest, Sir.”

“And you will. Miles is right; you're half dead on your feet. But, you also need to get the grime and blood off of you before it makes you ill.” He helped her out of her shirt, noting how she tried to hide the wince of discomfort. There were bruises that the doctor had ignored, likely satisfied with getting her to sit still long enough to stitch up the more dangerous wound. “Tonight you're going to bathe for as long as you like, eat a very well prepared meal and then you're going to sleep for as long as you like, but a minimum of eight hours.”

“Minimum of eight?”

“Try to get up before that and I'll send to Morgan for that sedative he threatened you with. I'm thinking you don't like to lose control. Probably the same reason you drink in moderation if you drink at all.” He ushered her to the bath. “I'm guessing it's also a good portion of why you wanted to get out of Philadelphia. Was I really that scary to you?”

She said nothing as he helped her out of her boots and jeans, then helped her into the bath after removing the bandage. He had more in the room to replace it. She leaned back against the enameled cast iron, closing her eyes with a sigh as the heat of the water soaked into her bones. 

“Christina?”

She opened her eyes. “A little.” She considered a moment. “A lot. I was losing myself. Everything was coming about you. I felt like you were swallowing me up, and I needed to get away before you became everything to me and then tossed me aside.”

Bass stroked her hair gently. “So you instead came back to St. Louis and we've both suffered for it. Dunk your head under.” She complied, getting her hair soaked through before she came back up. He took hold of a bottle of shampoo that he had purchased at one of the local shops for when she was back safe and poured some into his hand. “No more, Christina.” He began working the shampoo through her hair. “You've build a good foundation here, one we can build upon, but we're going to need you to do it. No more hiding.”

“This is St. Louis. This is my backyard, Sir.”

“The entire Republic is my backyard.” He worked the cleanser into a lather. “I won't allow you to be disrespected, the men will learn that quickly. But I also won't allow you to try and hide what happens between us like I'm some dirty little secret you tuck away under your mattress.”

“So you intend to go public. And what am I to be, exactly? Bed warmer? Mistress? Flavor of the month?” He could taste the tinge of bitterness in her voice.

“For now a valued officer who is also the woman I share my bed with, but only until we have things stabilized. Then you'll be considerably more.” He took up a pitcher in a tub of clean water near the tub and filled it so that he could start rinsing out her hair.

He helped her with the rest of her bath, taking care of the times when pain and lack of motion hindered her. He toweled most of the water from her hair and helped her out when she was done so that he could help her dry off. He gave her one of his shirts to wear, their difference in sizes it swallowed her and fell low enough to keep things decent. He re-bandaged her arm and was buttoning the shirt back up when their dinner arrived. Christina attacked the steak, vegetables and potatoes as though starving, giving little care to table manners. Likely she did give her rations to the men who were in greater need. The level of dedication she showed towards her men was admirable, even if it did push her into doing stupid things.

“Do you want me to send for more?”

She shook her head, slowing down. “This will be plenty.”

“Honestly, Christina, it's no bother. If you're still hungry all I have to do is send for it.”

She shook her head again. “Maybe in the morning. I'm getting tired.”

“I don't doubt it. The circles under your eyes are almost black.”

“That's flattering.”

Bass smiled. “You're still more beautiful than any other woman in the Republic. Maybe in the entire continent.” She rolled her eyes. “I'm going to make you believe that, even if I have to work on it for the next ten years.” He pushed away from the table and walked over to the bed to turn down the covers. “In you go.”

She hesitated, but eventually walked around the bed to take the side by the windows. Custom. Men preferred to sleep on the side facing the door. He was no exception. Bass had read in a book once that it was a holdover from primitive times; the man would sleep facing the door so that he could be the first to react if someone barged in to attack.

She slid under the covers, resting her head on the pillow and falling unconscious withing seconds. Bass couldn't help but smile at that as he handed off the soiled dishes and her ruined clothes to the guards outside. Shutting the door he removed the rest of his clothes and climbed into the bed next to her. 

He was true to his word; she was in no shape for sex. He just wanted to hold her close and know she was safe.

Bass slipped one arm over her flat stomach, snuggling close with his other arm going over head. It didn't take him long to fall asleep as well.

It was the most restful night he'd had in the past twenty months.


	3. Chapter 3

It was the soft rustle of papers that finally roused her. The heavy weight of Bass' arm was gone and the sheets on his side of the bed had long cooled. For a moment she felt lost. He had been there with her the entire night, letting go only once when she had to get up to relieve herself. The moment she had gotten back into the bed he had wrapped himself around her again, the heat of his body reaching through her and lulling her back to sleep.

It took her a second to remember why waking up in bed alone was a good thing.

She cracked her eyes a bit and saw booted feet resting in one of the chairs at he small table where they had eaten dinner the night before. Moving her gaze upwards, it wasn't Bass she found sitting in the other chair, but her uncle. She blinked in confusion and lifted her head from the pillow, the motion catching his attention.

“I told you that you were shaking on your feet.” His expression held just a hint of smugness and teasing to it as she looked around the room. “I needed to go over these but people wouldn't leave me alone. I kicked his butt out and made him take over for a bit.”

“Oh.” 

“Hungry?” She blinked at him, but her stomach answered for her. He smiled. “Guess that's a yes. It's a little after one but if you want breakfast food it shouldn't be a problem. Right now they kitchen staff would trek to Maine to bring you back lobster if you wanted it.”

It took a second for that to sink in. When it did, she groaned, closing her eyes and rubbing them. “What did he do?”

“Well he's not exactly being subtle.”

“How bad?”

“There've been some scuffles between the men stationed here and those we brought with us. The enlisted troops here are insanely loyal to you. We've been letting your guys off with verbal reprimands but anyone who says anything particularly nasty is finding themselves in some really unpleasant job positions. This morning Bass sent some major you apparently turned down more than once to the worst part of the fighting with a 'good luck' when he was overheard saying something about you apparently just waiting for a bigger fish to hook.”

She thought a moment. “Planchet? Wiry, beaky nose and eyes too close together?”

“That's the one. Been a problem for you?”

“He's a dick and thinks he's God's gift to womankind.” She paused. “Sir.”

Miles gave a snort. “You're sitting in a bed wearing nothing but my best friend's shirt. I think we can dispense with formalities for the moment. So, breakfast?”

She shook her head. “Whatever they made for lunch is fine.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder to the bath. “Do you mind?”

“Not at all.” He put the papers he had been reviewing down to get up and give the order for food while she shut herself into the bath and took care of her bladder. Her heart was racing. She knew Bass had made it clear that he wasn't going to hide whatever this thing between them was, but she'd thought he'd at least wait until she was out from under bed rest and back in her own damn uniform. She'd like to be standing tall, proud and safe behind her rank before facing the stares and whispers.

She washed her hands in the basin, taking time to clean her face and wipe the sleep from her eyes before going back out. The plates with their meals were being set out by a young private she knew well from the mess hall. His name was Jonathan and he was barely seventeen. When he'd gotten to St. Louis he'd looked like a lost puppy, swallowed by a uniform two sizes too big for him and still traumatized by the conscription camp. She'd ignored the officer in charge of the kitchens and had gone straight to his wife, a motherly, kind hearted woman who could never have too many unofficial sons and daughters. Now he didn't look scared half to death all the time and he would crawl through hot coals and back for Mamma Bess. God have mercy on any Plains Nation dolt who tried to target that woman, because there were a good five dozen of the Monroe Republic's enlisted personnel who would show them none.

He gave her a respectful nod and a soft 'Ma'am' before leaving. Her uncle invited her to sit down first.

“So, those bug out bunkers of yours weren't in any of the reports you sent us. I'd have remembered.”

She looked at her plate. Stuffed pork chops, carrots and mashed potatoes with what looked like real butter. This was not standard fare for the troops. “That was my idea. The Colonel backed it. I didn't want to run the risk of the information about them getting intercepted between here and Philadelphia.”

“Good tactical move, that. No need to risk advertising where potential hostages can be found.” He dug into his meal with a military-like efficiency that accompanied most all of his moves. She did so as well. The meat was perfectly seasoned and the stuffing was a mix of corn, bread crumbs and cheese. The good stuff. Not the stuff that sometimes came in moldy because it hadn't been sealed properly. She thought the meal last night was just as good, but at the time she had been so focused on just getting something into her belly she hadn't actually tasted it. 

“Any luck with that Georgian we brought in?”

“Some, but not enough. Strausser's still with him. I don't like the man, but he's our best interrogator.”

“I've heard about him. None of it was flattering.”

“There's nothing to flatter. He's a sick, twisted son-of-a-bitch, but he's our sick, twisted son-of-a-bitch.” He took a drink of whiskey an set the glass down before reaching over to the reports he'd laid aside to make room for the food. “I'm more worried about what we got from debriefing those two officers you rescued. You should be, too.”

She took the reports, reading them as she ate her potatoes. It was a summary of the questions they had been asked. She knew what those questions meant. “Georgia's noticed the change in the St. Louis border.”

“Did you think they'd miss it?”

“No, but I thought it would take them longer than this. At least until there were another few batches of officers ready to be sent out into the inner garrisons to start cleaning them up.”

“Yeah, well, we all have our intelligence operatives. We've got ours in Georgia, the Plains and Texas and they have theirs inside our own borders. I'm surprised it's taken them this long with all the noise you've been making.” She felt his eyes on her but kept her attention on the report. “Georgia doesn't know it, yet, but they're looking for you. Those two officers didn't break, but we've got four more unaccounted for. It's only a matter of time before one of them does.”

“Well, that could be potentially inconvenient.” She placed the reports down to the side. “Does he know about this?”

“Why do you think I'm here? The only way I could pry his ass out of this room was to promise to watch over you personally.”

“That's definitely going to be inconvenient. I don't particularly care for the idea of having a guard dog following me everywhere I go.” She paused a moment. “No offense meant, Sir.”

“None taken, but if you didn't want him to have any hope that there might be something for him here, you should have started screwing someone else.”

Well, General Matheson was nothing if not blunt and to the point. “I really did think he'd move on. I mean, seriously, he knew me for less than two weeks.”

“Yeah, I'll grant you that's odd. But not if you know the man.” He poured her a whiskey, even knowing she probably wouldn't drink it, before refilling his own glass. “I've been with him since we were boys. We're not just friends; we're family. Hell, I'm closer to Sebastian Monroe than I ever was with my own brother. We grew up together, went to school together, enlisted in the Marines and went to war together, and when the lights went out and everything went to hell, we pulled together a force and established some semblance of order together. I was with him when he had to bury his parents and his baby sisters and I was with him when he lost his wife and son.”

That was news. “He was married?”

“What stands for a marriage most of the time since the Blackout, yeah. They were expecting. Everything seemed to be going fine, then the next moment he's stumbling out of the tent, covered in blood up to the elbows and falling apart. Something went wrong with the labor and we lost them both.” He swallowed his whiskey in one pull. “Pretty much broke him.”

He set the glass down with a thunk. “Anyway, he was like this with Shelly, too. Just knew she was the one within a few days. Surprised the hell out of me. He was always a womanizer, always smooth talking his way into one bed or another, but Shelly came into his life and all of the sudden he's ready for a family. It's actually the most important thing to him; family.”

She toyed with her carrots, pushing them around her plate as she thought this over. She knew he was still watching her. “So, if you have any doubts that he's serious about this, better let go of them now. I've seen this before. He's not going anywhere. Well, he's going back to Philadelphia, but that's fine since you'll be coming with us.”

That got her attention. “Sir?”

Miles shrugged. “I can't leave you here. You're too valuable. Your performance these past two years has been outstanding, and you delivered on what you promised. I'm promoting you to Major and assigning you as my personal attache so that you can help me implement your ideas and methods across the whole of the Militia.”

“There seems little sense in promoting someone whose commission runs out in a couple of months.”

“Well that's so not happening. I've already updated your papers to roll over your commission for another five years.” He gave her a moment to let that sink in. “I've got to think of what's best for the Republic. You're good for it. Damn good. And that means I can't afford to let you go.”

Charlie looked down at her plate, her appetite having fizzled out. “Permission to speak frankly, Sir?”

“Go ahead.”

“Is this your idea or his?”

“Fair question. The promotion and extending your commission are mine. I doubt he ever thought you'd actually leave the Militia, not with how good you've been at your job. You don't half-ass things, and I like that about you, but I always knew your heart wasn't really in it. You've taken the hand life dealt you and you made it your own. All of this, everything you've done, you've done because you clearly decided that you might as well use what power and respect you've earned to make things better for people as a whole.” He gave a single shake of his head. “I wish we'd had you or someone like you when we started this whole mess. Maybe things never would have slipped this far.”s

“I don't remember much about how things were before. I vaguely remember television and cars that actually moved, but the older people say it was harsh those first few years.”

“It still is harsh. People turned on one another in a hurry. Killing one another over a can of beans or a tent. You, all of the ones about your age, you're damn lucky you lived. We'd gotten soft and spoiled, all those years with power. There weren't many people left who remembered how to do without.”

Charlie smiled a bit, remembering Aaron back home. “There was this guy back home, went to some school called MIT, apparently it was a bit deal. Anyway, he said once that if he could do it over, those first days after the Blackout, he'd go directly to the nearest bookstore and clean out the sections about how to do anything by hand or about growing food and survival, then he'd have hit the stores that catered to farmers for seeds and supplies.”

Miles chuckled. “There are probably a lot of people who had that hindsight. Hell, I even had it. Some of the most useful civilians we've got are the people who, before the Blackout, were the 'off crowd'. The ones who actually took the time to learn how to do things the old way, actually became blacksmiths and herbalists and would spend their weekends at Renaissance Faires. My personal favorites are the ones who actually took the time to learn how to home craft real ales and whiskeys.” He refilled his glass as though in punctuation. 

She found herself chuckling at that. “You know, I've often wondered how some of the higher ups actually get anything accomplished with as much as they drink.”

“It's a gift.” There were three sharp raps on the door, to which Miles said, “That's Bass,” just as the door opened and the President walked in.

He smiled at her and Charlie felt her insides do a little flip. “You're looking far better rested.” He moved to her side and leaned down. She froze up for a second, not expecting the open intimacy as he bent down and kissed her hair while smoothing a hand down her back. Even in Philadelphia he had kept some distance between them when others were around, even when it was just Miles. The 'couple-ness' was there, but he kept it to little more than an arm draped across the back of the sofa behind her or refilling her glass. 

He really was throwing subtlety out the window.

Perfect.

Bass stole the last bite of meat from Miles' plate, ignoring his friend's indignant 'Hey!' “He fill you in on what we know so far?”

“You mean about Georgia trying to suss out what's behind the civil changes around here? Yeah.”

“Good, so you'll understand why you're going to be confined to the secure area. We could use you in planning and logistics right now, anyway.” He glanced over when the guards opened the door and the soldier from the kitchens came in with two more plates; one for Bass and one apparently for her. “And after you're off bed rest, you don't go anywhere without a guard.”

Oh that was just stupid. “If I'm being confined to the fort then I don't need a damn guard.”

“Yes, you do.” That came from Miles, and his tone was firm. “We're not running the risk of a Georgian spy hiding in our own ranks taking a shot at you. If they can't capture you, then they'll kill you.” He watched her try to turn down the second plate. “Eat it. You only got one meal last night and you slept through breakfast. You're still running on reserves, and you really don't have enough body fat to do that for long.”

Must not glare at the general. Instead let the soldier replace her empty plate with the full one and picked up her knife and fork. She really was hungry.

Bass sat down in the seat between them, nodding thanks to Miles as he poured him a glass of whiskey. “Miles is right. You're making the Republic look good out here. People are moving to St Louis because they've heard it's a better place even if it is on the border. Our adversaries are noticing, and they want to stop it before we manage to get the rest of our house in order. Right know it's you, but it's only a matter of time until one of those remaining four officers breaks.”

“Yes. The general has already informed me that I'm completely fucked.”

Bass gave a chuff. “Not completely. We discovered it in time and now we can take measures to keep you safe.” He took a bit of his chops and savored it before swallowing. “Miles, you should really look at that lieutenant of hers; Caleb Bradley? The man shows a lot of promise.”

“Already have him on my list.”

“List?” She looked form Bass to Miles. “What list?”

“Well you didn't think you were taking your platoon with you to your new job? You've done a good job with your men. Time to look at who we can disperse outwards to others areas to help with implementing your ideas through the rest of the Militia.”

Charlie closed her eyes and took a breath, letting it out slowly. She could feel their eyes on her. “Sir, I don't want the promotion.”

“Tough. I need you to take it, and you will.” Miles was still looking at her when she opened her eyes again. “And if you didn't want the promotion, you shouldn't have been so damn good at your job.”

“He's got a point there.”

She looked over at Bass and tamped down on the little thrill that went through her at seeing him again. She told herself she didn't want to know if his kisses still felt of whatever he was feeling or thinking at the time. She didn't really want to climb onto his lap and tangle her fingers into his hair. 

But she did. Apparently distancing herself from the man hadn't accomplished what she'd intended; she still felt pulled towards him. She pressed her legs together under the table, trying to will away the little knot of tension beginning to build there. 

“I can write you both a manual if you need to know how I'm pulling things off. You don't need me.”

“Then you clearly underestimate the importance of a skilled officer.” Miles downed the rest of his whiskey. '”You're taking the promotion and you're taking the new assignment. I'll be more than happy to listen to your views on how best to handle your platoon, you know them and their skills better than anyone else, but you're too valuable to me to let go or to leave here.”

“What he said.” Bass pointed at Miles with his fork. Charlie looked at him with an expression that said she clearly didn't buy him siding with his friend because she was an excellent officer. He just shrugged and had another bite of pork.

“Don't let it worry you right now. You're still on two more days of bed rest, if I remember correctly. I believe there was a threat of sedation if you're caught doing anything work related.” Miles started gathering his reports. “I think the fort's doctor and Bass' physician must have gone to the same medical school. I get that threat a lot.”

“There's always a good reason for it. Usually because you have a bad habit of overdoing it and popping your stitches. Have you ever done that?”

Charlie tactfully opted to decline answering that question in favor of eating her second meal. Bass chuckled. Miles gave her a knowing grin and said his good byes, leaving her alone with Bass again.

All alone with Bass. In a room with little more than a table, a few chairs and a really nice bed. 

Damn.

“Sure I can't interest you in joining me?” She made herself focus to find that he was refreshing his drink.

“Maybe just one.” He nodded in answer and poured her a glass. 

“You know that doctor actually made a point of asking if you were staying put.” She rolled her eyes. “I've never seen a physician that annoyed with a patient. I mean, Miles and mine have their scuffles, usually ending in me ordering him to shut the hell up and just do what the man says, but not even he has that bad of a reputation.” He closed the decanter. “Did you really go back into the field with a head injury and concussion?”

She gave a frustrated groan. “I was perfectly lucid. Is he still bitching about that?”

“That and the time he personally rode out after you on a routine garrison inspection because someone told him they were pretty sure you were at Death's door.”

“I was running a little fever. He blew it entirely out of proportion.”

“It was over one hundred and two.” He gave her a look that was half amused and half stern. “You need to take better care of yourself, Christina. I find myself insanely grateful you're still alive.”

“I had a job to do.”

“And a platoon of men depending on you to be there for them. You've already proven you're as tough as the boys; you don't have to keep trying to kill yourself.” She scowled at him over the top of her glass before taking a drink. “Now, don't be that way. You've earned that promotion Miles is giving you, and being his attache will less stressful.”

“You're kidding, right? You do know the general.”

He grinned at her. “Okay, Miles can be a dick, but he genuinely likes you. He's not kidding about that part. I think something about you reminds him of himself. Actually, you do act more than a little like him, which may explain why I like you so much.” She paused at that, arching a brow. “Finish that thought and I'm sending for the morphine.”

She bit her lips to keep from laughing and pushed her plate aside, finally full. He stole the remaining half of pork chop off her plate. She sipped at the whiskey in her glass while he finished the rest of his meal in silence. He called for one of the men outside to come clear out the dishes. They must have come with him and Miles because she didn't recognize the guard who came in. She remained quiet until the door was shut and they were alone again.

“Okay, let me check that wound.” He pushed from the table, startling her a bit. “You'll need a fresh dressing anyway.”

He got up and got the fresh bandages from the top drawer of the bureau the room came with. Charlie swallowed and moved to the bed where there was better light from the window. She unbuttoned the shirt, his shirt, and pulled her arm free, holding that side of the garment to her chest with her other hand. He noticed the action and gave a snort, but he didn't comment.

She tried to make herself not notice the warmth of his body as he sat close to her on the bed. Told herself to ignore the feel of his breath as is drifted over her bare skin with each exhalation. The knuckles of his fingers brushed against the fabric covering the swell of her breast as they worked to unwind the bandage until he could pull it off.

“Good,” he commented, resting the back of his fingers against the edges around the wound. “Not hot to the touch, no inflammation, no signs of infection. Very good.” He cleaned the area gently with one of the medical facilities tinctures brewed from medicinal herbs, a way to avoid exhausting valuable antibiotic supplies, before re-wrapping it with a clean bandage. “Looks like you won't need to be force fed any meds this time.”

She swallowed, too affected by his nearness. “That's an exaggeration.” Her voice was barely more than a whisper. “He didn't have to force feed me; he just refused to let me leave the infirmary until I took them.”

He chuckled. “You really are a worse patient than Miles.” A hand came to rest against the small of her back, his thumb rubbing a tiny circle there. Her mind flashed back to Philadelphia and post-coital moments when he would do the same thing, tracing circles onto her skin in the glow of the firelight from the hearth. “Are you okay? You're shaking.”

She was. She was trying not to. “I'm fine.” That didn't sound convincing. She had thought, hoped, even prayed that the distance and time would kill this... whatever it was. Less than twenty-four hours in the man's presence and she was getting that feeling again, like he was pulling her into himself until they'd no longer be two separate people. It frightened her, but she was frightened more by how there was a large part of her that wanted it. 

She'd tried to find someone else, but it never worked. It never went past kissing, because the others never kissed... right. They tasted flat and uninteresting. Nothing like what she experienced with Bass. Nothing that could make her just fall into bed with one of them and try to purge him from her mind.

Oh, fuck it. 

She turned her head quickly, capturing his lips with her own while her non-injured arm moved to tangle fingers into his unruly curls. He made a surprised sound that quickly converted into a hungry growl as he returned the kiss with just as much fervor.

He tasted of desire, longing and hunger. And it made her shudder.

She shifted her weight, moving without breaking the kiss so that she was no longer seated beside him but straddling his hips. He tugged his shirt off of her, throwing it aside somewhere before wrapping his arms about her and pulling her closer. She felt the rough wool of his uniform against her bare skin and gooseflesh erupted all over her. He smiled into their kiss as he ran his hands over her to smooth the tiny bumps away. She broke the kiss, her forehead against his as she tried to catch her breath.

“I missed you.” She'd been thinking it, but she hadn't meant to actually say it. The words just sort of slipped out in a whisper. One he clearly heard because he answered with a groan an shifted, moving them so that he could lay her down onto the bed before standing up, still between her legs as he began to strip off his uniform.

~***~

“I missed you.” 

Bass was already hungry enough to bury himself balls deep into her, but those three words were like fire to a detonation cord. He kept his eyes locked with hers as he made quick work of his uniform. Her blue eyes were dark, the pupils blown wide. With her hair tumbled around her like it was, she looked like an angel. Maybe one he'd sullied enough to keep her here on Earth with him.

He pushed his pants down over his hips and kicked them away. Christina sat up, and he drew in a sharp breath as she gently nuzzled his cock, purring over it like some kitten she had found. In their short time together in Philadelphia he'd never tried to talk her into going down on him, and though he'd be happy to teach her how in the very near future, he wasn't going to indulge that particular whim right now. 

She gave a confused sound of protest when he pushed her back. “I've had to wait two years for this. I'm taking my time.” He kissed her soundly, maneuvering her back into a supine position before he left her lips and started working his way down her toned, fit body.

He'd noticed the new scars last night, evidence that she was every much a soldier as her men. It twisted his gut to know she was putting herself in such situations, but he had agreed with Miles when they'd decided that women would be allowed to serve and just as eligible for conscription. They were kept mainly in logistical positions, with very few of them in combat. His Christina was an extraordinary exception, not the rule. Now he took the time to trace each new bit of history on her skin, evidence that she had survived and someone else had not. 

Her stomach taught with the muscles just defined enough that there was a discernible “six pack” without it being overtly obvious. He traced the lines between the muscles with his tongue, smiling against her skin when she quivered under him. Working his way down further, he settled himself between her thighs.

He enjoyed going down on a woman, but it wasn't something he indulged in often. He liked the taste of them and the sounds they made as he brought them to orgasm. But you didn't do this with a prostitute. You had no real way of knowing if they were clean. Whores you banged one out with while wearing a condom to keep your dick safe; you took your time to savor with someone you could trust. Someone like Christina. He knew exactly where she'd been, in his bed in Philadelphia and now here with him. 

He inhaled, catching the scent of arousal and woman while placing a kiss on the inside of her thigh. That first night she'd been nervous and uncertain. Being around soldiers all the time he doubted she was ignorant about the concept of sex, but apparently it had never crossed her mind that someone would actually take the time to do it properly. She'd nearly jumped off the bed in surprise when she'd felt that first slow lick. Now she moaned and arched towards him, her legs flexing as her toes dug into his side as though he might try to leave. 

Not a chance. He was a man starving, and he intended to have a feast. And he took his time with it, partly because he wanted to stretch this out and partly because there was some part of him that wanted her to suffer through a bit of frustration in penance for putting the entire Republic between them. He tasted and teased and toyed with her, adding his fingers and playing her body like a finely tuned instrument. She was tight, nearly as tight as when she was untried and he worked her gently to soften her. The sweet, breathy sounds she was making were like music to him, letting him know she was close. Close enough he could raise up, turn his fingers and curl them so that they caught that little sweet spot that soon had her flying apart. Damn but she was beautiful when she came, all fire and sensuality. Her cries were sweet, too. He smiled a bit wider, the thought of how pissed she'd be if she ever realized the guards outside could hear her flitting briefly over his mind.

He kept her on that crest until her body surrendered completely, her lungs gasping for air. He pulled his fingers out and licked them clean. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of the way she tasted. She was almost back to herself when he moved back up the bed to kiss her, demanding and eager. Her fingers dug into his skin hard enough that he could feel the sharp edges of her nails in spite of how short she kept them. He'd have bruises there, maybe even some cuts. It only made him harder.

Bass reached down and took himself in hand, moistening the head of his cock with her wetness before easing into her. He hadn't been imagining it, she was as tight as the first time, only this time her body knew to make way for him. He sheathed himself in to the hilt and came to a stop, kissing her again as he gave her time to become re-accustomed to him.

She felt like coming home.

When he started moving again, she was moving with him. It was slow and gentle to begin with, like saying 'hello' to one another which was essentially what they were doing. They indulged in deep kisses and tender explorations, something else he didn't bother with when he was with a pro. 

It didn't take her long to start speeding up again. She was still humming from the first round he'd put her through, and soon the way her body was moving let him know she wanted it harder even if she was still too inexperienced to know what to ask for. He reached down to coax her long legs over his hips, opening her up to him so that he could snap his own towards her with more force. She responded by biting down on his lip with a hungry little growl that was sexy as hell. 

He pounded her into the mattress, reveling in her responses as she grew increasingly more demanding. He knew he was getting closer to his own completion and reached down between them to find and tease her back over the cliff again. Her body clamped down around him and he let himself join her, letting himself fall into the white haze of his own release. 

When he came to himself let his head come to rest against hers, temple to temple, his lips just by her ear. “I missed you, too.”

He held her, limbs entwined, until he had softened. Only then did he disengage their bodies and remove his weight from her, pulling her into his arms and holding her. She was boneless, sated, and it gave him no small amount of pleasure to know he was responsible for it. Idly, he traced his fingers over her skin in random circles until she fell asleep curled into him.

He hadn't bothered to pull out, he never had with her. Never bothered with condoms. At first, in Philadelphia, it had been because he wanted the indulgence of not having to worry about where his partner had been. It had only taken a few days with her, however, before he just hadn't cared to be careful. There had even been a part of him, in those weeks after she'd convinced him to let her go, that he had been a little hopeful that she'd get only a few weeks into the trip to St. Louis before being forced to turn back by morning sickness. It hadn't happened. Apparently he hadn't been fortunate enough to find her at the right time.

Even if they got enough intel from that Georgian to call Kelly out on her bullshit, he'd be here for at least a month or two. It'd be a dick move, but he wasn't above doing it. Sure, she had initiated this, but he still saw those walls in her eyes, just barely visible and ready to be slammed up at any moment. She was still skittish, ready to run at a second's notice. But there were some things you couldn't run from, not easily, and not when the right people were involved. 

Like he thought, a dick move. But a strategic one. Bass pressed his lips to her forehead, the kiss lingering and soft. It would inconvenience Miles, because it would take her out of the field. Still, he would understand.


	4. Chapter 4

Her uniform had betrayed her. 

She knew it was all in her head. The cotton and wool of her uniform was the same as it had been before. The new rank insignia hadn't really changed it. Hadn't really made the collar itchier. Her mind was just playing tricks on her.

General Matheson had decided not to wait for her promotion or to start her on her new duties as his 'right hand girl'. It was a good excuse to keep her out of the fighting and where she would be “safe”. He had kept his word and allowed her to have some say in how her men were handled, and had taken her advice when she had recommended Caleb be promoted to Captain and made her replacement as their CO. 

He'd only had the job a couple of weeks and was doing quite well. Everyone still referred to the platoon as Matthew's Maniacs, though. She had never liked that name. Her men were far from being 'maniacs'. They were likely the most stable group of soldiers on the border.

“Stop that. I'm not taking it back.”

She refrained from glaring at her new boss and his amused tone. He thought her discomfort with the new rank and job was amusing. Still, she stopped worrying with her collar and continued looking over the reports. “The Tribes are doubling down on their efforts. They've stepped things up here, here and here.” She added pieces to the map board to indicate where on the battle lines things were getting hotter. 

“The western point makes sense. The other two don't. We're strongest there.” Miles sipped from his glass. “What do you see?”

He did that a lot, asked her what she saw or what her thoughts were. He was training her. Teaching her. She was being tutored by the great General Matheson himself. What an honor. 

Her eyes looked over the map, her mind comparing the colored markers with what she knew of the battlefield outside. “Desperation. They know we uncovered the Georgian connection and they know we'll confront Foster with it. She'll either openly declare hostilities, opening up a second front, or she'll back down. They think the second option is more likely.”

Miles smiled and nodded. “Exactly. We have a treaty in place with Georgia, and we've done nothing to break it. She doesn't have a valid reason for going to war and she's too good a politician to risk angering her people by doing so without one. She'll pull out, taking her guns and supplies with her.”

Charlie's eyes kept on the map. “It will be at least two months before that happens. The siege has been going on for almost five, now.”

“True. We'd be hurting if our supply lines were to our rear.” He looked at her. “What is it? I can hear you thinking.”

“The civilians. The bug out bunkers weren't built with something this long term in mind.” She frowned. “I should have planned them better.”

“You planned them based one what you knew; that you expected a two to three week skirmish at most. You can't see the future, Major. It doesn't mean you're not good at your job; it just means you're human.”

“Kids need fresh air and sunshine.”

“And not to be riddled with bullets. We're keeping the bunkers supplied. The men's families are safe.” He clapped her on the shoulder. “You did good, Chris. Stop beating yourself up over it.”

“What's she mad at herself over this time?” Bass shut the door behind him, closing the room off again. 

“She's upset with herself for not preparing the bunkers for a long term siege.”

“What? You mean you can't see the future?” He made it over to her side and pressed a kiss just by her ear. Not that he was back to being subtle, by any definition of the word, but he usually refrained from kissing her around others except when it was just them and a select few. Miles was one. Captain Baker was another. Both men were more relaxed around him. Bass tended to be professional and somewhat stiff around Major Neville. Now that she thought about it, he tended to reflect whatever mannerisms would make the person he was dealing with more comfortable. Except when it came to her. With her he seemed to make an effort to keep chipping away at her professionalism when it came to him. 

Unfortunately, he seemed to be making good progress in his efforts.

“That doesn't mean you failed at anything, Christina, it just mean's you're human.”

She frowned, her mouth opening. She thought better of it and closed it again. Miles arched a brow at her. “None of that. You know the rules. When it's just us you can speak your mind.”

Well, that was dumb concession to give her. “Do you two share a brain?” Bass let out a bark of laughter. Miles snorted into his whiskey.

“Hell, no. You've met Bass. He's an idiot.”

“Oh, nice, Miles. Thank you.”

“Don't mention it.”

“Dick.” Bass punched his friend in the arm. Hard. Miles just grunted and punched him back in the side. Charlie rolled her eyes and muttered an exasperated 'men' under her breath.

“Gentlemen, not to be a buzz kill, but we're in the middle of a siege.”

“Is that what all the ruckus outside is about?”

Someone was certainly in a good mood today. He'd been that way the past few days, whereas she'd felt abominable for more than a week, now. The stress of being in such close proximity to her uncle every day, to wondering when she'd make the misstep that would unmask her, was wearing on her. Each morning was met with headaches and nausea to the point she could barely manage to choke down some toast an a couple of strips of bacon. It would let up some after she had time to get back into her job and let herself become calm again, but it was annoying the hell out of her. Even her cycle had been affected. “I see what you mean, General.”

“Told you.”

“Hey,” Bass started, pointing a finger at her, “none of that. I'm the president of the Monroe Republic. Show me a little respect.”

“I thought my willingness to speak my mind and call you out on your bull shit was what you liked about me?”

“No, that's what I like about you. Bass likes the way you fill out the uniform.”

“There's more to it than that.” He looked offended at the suggestion that his feelings towards her were so shallow. Charlie tamped down the little flip her stomach tried to do. “Unlike you, I can actually show affection to another person. You should try it. Maybe patch things up with Nora. You two were good together.”

“I'm not talking about Nora.” The tone in Miles' voice brooked no argument. Bass, surprisingly, dropped the subject and moved to the map board. “They're getting restless. They know they're going to lose their support, soon.”

“Yes, and they're hitting us hard.”

“A runner just came in. I intercepted him in the hallway.” Bass handed Charlie the communique, the wax seal already broken. She unfolded it and read while he continued speaking. “Those other three regiments are a day's march out.”

“Good, we could use the fresh men. We'll move them to the front of the lines and let the guys there pull back. They'll be able to catch their breath but I want to keep them on the field.”

Charlie frowned. “Sir?” Miles looked over at her. “The men are exhausted. They're starting to falter. With the new regiments, perhaps we can give them a day or two to rest up?”

“I'd love to, but we can't. We don't know how much the tribes have saved up for this fight. Better to hit them back just as hard as they're hitting us. Try to push them back.”

And possibly break the men in the process. “I'm not sure they can take a push right now.”

“They'll have to. With the additional men we'll have the upper hand.” He set down his now empty glass. “I understand your concerns, Chris, but we need to use whatever advantage we have right now. If you have any other ideas, let's hear them.”

She looked at the map. She was very much aware of the two sets of eyes watching her, and she pushed that feeling back so she could concentrate one what she was seeing in her mind's eye. She replaced the colored markers with troops and battle lines, picturing the layout and the terrain as she went over the possible movements and options. “We break the siege.”

“How do you suggest we do that without using all the men?”

“We hit them from behind.” She turned so that she was fully facing the table, reaching out for more markers. 

“I can't move three full regiments behind enemy lines, not without going the long way around and they'd likely end up fighting the whole way there.”

“Not if they're already there.” She placed yellow markers to the north slightly west of the battle lines. “Not our men, allies.”

“And where would we get allies form inside the Plains Nation?”

She was pointing to the new markers as she turned to look at them. “I've been keeping my contact with the Indian nations since I first encountered them. I make a trip up there at least once, sometimes twice a year.”

“You what?!” Bass gaped at her. “Are you crazy, crossing the border like that? You could have been captured or killed.” His tone was scolding.

“Crossing the border like that is how I knew I could get my men across for that scouting mission. There are weak spots on the Plains side.” She picked out some black markers and used them to denote the places she knew were relatively safe to cross. “The terrain is crap, hard to traverse, so these places aren't closely watched. A single rider in civilian clothing can cross over without much trouble.”

“And we just... what... ask the Nations to join us?” Miles looked skeptical.

“Not 'we', it would have to be me.”

Miles said, “That's not happening.” the same time Bass said, “You are not going out there.”

“They won't talk with anyone else. It's my connection. It has to be me.”

“Then it won't be anyone.” She gave Bass an irritated look. “You're not crossing the battle line. Not again.” 

Must not yell at the President. “It is the only way to get their help. I'm the only one they'll listen to.”

“He's right, Chris. Georgia's looking for you. By now they've broken at least one of those remaining officers they took. They'll know who you are.”

“But they won't know what I look like. I can do this.”

“We can't risk you.”

“General, you're placing the life of one soldier above that of over four thousand, with another twenty-five hundred on the way.”

“Damn right we are!' Bass stepped into her personal space, an aggressive move that almost had her stepping back, but she forced herself to stand her ground. “We're putting your life above theirs. You are not doing this, Christina.”

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, reminding herself to keep her temper and trying to will away the nagging headache that was coming back. “With all due respect, I think you may be letting our personal relationship color your judgment in this matter.”

“You're not going, Chris.” Miles' voice was firm and commanding. “That's an order.” His expression made the protest she was going to launch fall silent in her throat. She shut her mouth with an audible click.

The room was silent for an extended moment, the tension not doing anything positive for her headache, or her nausea. When Bass' hands came up to her shoulders she jumped from the surprise.

“Christina,” he started, his voice soft, “you've been up since before Miles, and you've been running yourself into the ground again.” He rubbed her upper arms a few times as if trying to soothe her. “Take a break. Go get something more substantial to eat. Hell, take a nap if you feel like it. I'll keep this old war horse in line.”

“That's a good idea. Take a load off. Maybe you'll come up with a better idea when you've rested some.”

She was being dismissed. Fine, she could stand to get away from the testosterone and over-protectiveness for a bit anyway. With a nod, she left them in the war room to make their plans on how to best run their troops into the ground. So be it. She wasn't the general. She wouldn't have to answer for any of it.

The hallway air was somewhat cooler, but not by much. Her head was starting to pound and she rubbed at her temples as she leaned back against the door. This was beginning to really bother her. With a sigh she pushed away from the wood and grimaced as she made herself trudge to her least favorite place in the entire base. Maybe she could coax an aspirin out of one of the medics before...

“Major Matthews?”

She closed her eyes and sighed. “Damn it.” Turning on her heel she faced Major Morgan Calder, feeling dwarfed by the man mountain as she usually did. “Major Calder.”

His eyes moved over her, assessing. “I don't see any major bleeding or obviously broken bones.”

“I've got a headache.”

He arched a brow. “A headache?” He looked skeptical.

“For the past week.”

“Well, that sounds more like you. Come on. In my office.” He reached for her elbow and she pulled away. 

“I don't need an exam. I just need some aspirin.”

“The fact that you, of all people, are walking willingly into my infirmary means you're likely dying of something and are only telling me about ten percent of your symptoms. In my office.” He ushered her inside and closed the door behind them.

She couldn't really remember much after that. Something happened that made everything in her head a droning, white buzz. It was only Calder's deep, booming voice repeating “Major? Major. Major,” and finally saying “Chris” while putting his hands on her knees that she snapped out of it. She looked from his broad hands to his face, her brain trying to process everything.

Calder looked at her with no small amount of concern. “This type of thing does tend to happen if you're sexually active. Did you take any precautions? Use condoms? Anything?”

Her lips felt numb. She licked them, barely feeling it. “No.” Her voice sounded small. “We never even discussed it.”

The look of concern deepened. “I'd at least expect him to know better. The man's got a reputation.”

She gave a short, half-hearted bark of laughter as everything started coming into focus. As everything started to make sense. “He's won. I'll never be rid of him, now. Not with this.” She had looked away from Calder and didn't see the concerned expression that settled onto his features.

“Chris, it's still early. If you want, I can give you something to stop this. As far as anyone will know you were just a bit late. Stress and warfare will do that to a woman.”

She shook her head. “If he ever found out, if he even suspected, you'd be a dead man.”

“He won't even have to know.”

“He already knows!” The answer was louder than she had anticipated, and sharp. She swallowed and wiped at her eyes. “He knows, or at least he suspects.” She gave another defeated laugh. “That's why he's been in such a good mood these past few days. He noticed the signs when I didn't. I don't think I wanted to see them.”

Her hands were trembling. Calder captured them in his, his dark skin swallowing them up. “Major, you can't know that.”

“I can. He probably wanted this to happen.” She licked her lips. “He had a family before. After the Blackout. Miles told me. He and his wife were expecting, and something went wrong. He lost them both. Miles said that... he said that family was the most important thing to Monroe. To Bass. I wouldn't put it past him to have purposefully forgotten to take any measures to stop it. I can't excuse myself other than I'm hardly left alone long enough to go for anything. I'm constantly two steps away from complete lock down.”

“So what will you do?”

“I don't know. Being reassigned to General Matheson was going to be hard enough, but this? I'll never see the outside of Liberty Hall again.”

Calder reached up with one hand, taking a light hold on her chin and lifting her face up to meet his. He studied her face, his expression one of concern and cautiousness. “Major, give me your side arm.”

She blinked. “What?”

“Your side arm. I want you to give it to me.”

It took her a second to figure out what he was asking of her. When she did, she rolled her eyes. “I'm not going to kill myself over this!”

“Good chance you won't, you're too stubborn to make my life that easy, but I'd still feel better if you let me hold onto it for a little while. Hand it over.”

“Oh, of all the idiotic...” She pulled the pistol from its holster and ejected the clip, handing them over to the doctor.

“Good. Now, how much trouble are you having keeping things down? Are you eating well?”

She sighed. “Not really. Too sick to eat in the mornings and too busy to eat most every other time.”

“Then I want you to send one of those errand boys following you around to Monroe's cook and have them send you up something hearty. Lots of protein. And ask for milk or water from now on.” He rolled in the old office chair with casters he kept meticulously oiled and secured her weapon in his desk before rolling over to a cabinet. “Here, these will help with the nausea.” He made his back over to her and handed her a tin. She opened it curiously and frowned.

“Peppermints?”

“Made the old fashioned way with plenty of mint. It settles the stomach, and it will clear away that vomit taste you get when you gag but get nothing for it. I'll let the apothecary in town know we'll be needing more.”

“So food and candy?”

“And sleep. You're stressed out enough with the job. This is just going to add to it.”

“Now you're starting to sound like them. They sent me off for a 'nap' after they disagreed with my ideas.”

“Well, if your idea was anything like your usual ideas, they probably had good reason. You're a little on the crazy side.” He patted her knee lightly. “Off with you, and you come straight back here if you start feeling bad or if you start having any dangerous thoughts. I mean it. Don't make me hunt you down.”

She gave him a rueful smile. “You're not nearly as scary now that we're the same rank.”

“You're talking to the only man who can override your boss and your baby daddy. Don't mess with me. Now get out of my office.”

She left the office, popping a peppermint in her mouth and ignoring the questioning looks from her guard dog of the day at the evidence she'd just been crying. It took some bullying, but she managed to send him off towards the kitchens to tell the cook Miles and Bass had brought with them to send her up a double of whatever he was whipping up for lunch. She probably did need to eat.

Pregnant. She was pregnant. Couldn't be more than a few weeks along. How late was she? Maybe two weeks? She was never perfectly regular, her cycle always varying by five to seven days, but this was longer than usual. 

And family was the most important thing to Sebastian Monroe. She'd asked her father once who he knew that Miles would side with Monroe if they tried to reach out to him and he'd told her that Miles had always been closer to Bass than he had to his own family. They were tighter than blood. They'd enlisted into the Marines together. They had fought in wars overseas in countries that could no longer be reached together. They were brothers in everything but blood and Ben Matheson admitted that he'd had little in common with his younger brother. Ben had been the bookworm, the studious one. Miles and Bass had been the stereotypical boys who liked to play soldier and build tree forts. 

Family. Bass would want his family. She'd almost gotten to the point that she had convinced herself that she could do the additional five years, even under Miles' close proximity. She'd told herself that she could keep her secret, keep them from finding out who she was just long enough to make it through the end of her commission. 

She didn't pay attention to where she was going. She made her way out of the main building and across the field to the officer barracks, moving almost in some trance like daze thru the door and up to her room on the second floor. 

After all, if absence had made the heart grow fonder, maybe having her underfoot in Philadelphia would take the edge off of whatever this near-addiction she had for Bass was. It may have done the same for him, but that was tossed out the window now. Even if he did get bored with her, he wouldn't let her leave. He'd want his child close, and he'd want the mother there with him or her. 

And what was with that, anyway? Sure, Miles had said he'd done this before with his wife, gone from meeting to commitment in barely any time at all, but who does that? There were whispers, rumors of possible mental instability in President Monroe, but nothing that anyone would voice aloud. Not if they wanted to keep breathing. But how much of that was just speculation and how much was real? 

She was still in her introspective haze when she left the barracks again, moving across the field without really seeing where she was going. 

What was she going to do with a baby? All she knew about children she learned as a child, watching over Danny in the night. Waking up to make sure he was still breathing. Watching out for him when they were away from the town. As he got older she was certain there was a part of him, a very large part, that resented her over-protectiveness, but also understood that a big part of it was because their mother was constantly reminding her that she had to watch over Danny. Still, what did she really know about raising a child? 

What if whatever went wrong with Danny in the womb was hereditary? There were no more high-tech hospitals and miracle-performing devices. 

“Charlie?”

The sound of her name snapped her out of her thoughts and sent ice sliding down her spine. She blinked and the stables came into focus. Looking around, her eyes settled on a familiar face. “Phil?”

Phillip Briar seemed uncertain that she was really there. His face split into a wide smile. “It is you! Damn, Charlie, it's good to see you.” She stood there, dumbfounded, as he reached her and pulled her into a hug. She returned it on reflex.

“You, too.” They broke apart and she looked over the Militia uniform he was wearing. A sergeant. Not bad. “When did they nab you?”

“Oh, I wasn't conscripted. I enlisted.”

She blinked. “Enlisted? Voluntarily?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. The harvest the year after you left was bad. Real bad. A few of us older ones enlisted, both so we'd get three square meals and so we wouldn't be using up what food there was for everyone else.” 

That would be six years ago. “And you re-upped.”

“Not a lot of opportunities back home. You know that. Besides, you wouldn't be here if you didn't do the same.”

“Yeah, I didn't so much as re-up as I got rolled over. Idiots keep promoting me. You'd think no one actually ever did their job before.” 

Phil snorted back a laugh. “Noticed that, did you? Hey, speaking of doing their job, do you know that officer everyone is talking about? The one playing house with Monroe?”

She winced. “Yeah... that would be me. I kind of changed my name when they conscripted me.”

He blinked, his face going slack jawed. “You're Major Matthews?”

“In the flesh.” She fidgeted a little in her spot. This could be very bad for her. Phil knew her from before, they'd hunted and fished together, there was even a time when she may have had a small crush on him back when she was maturing enough to notice boys but he was still in the 'girls have cooties' stage. If he blabbed to the wrong ear, her cover would be blown.

“I should probably not hug you again. Should we even be in the same place alone?”

“Probably not, but I won't tell if you don't.”

“Deal. I'll so make that deal.” He stepped back a few steps, putting more than an arm's length between them. “So, what can I do for you, Ma'am?”

She tried to remember how she got to the stables. She had been preoccupied. Had she really walked over here without realizing it? She rolled her shoulders and noticed the weight slung over the right one. It was a familiar weight; a pack, her crossbow and her quiver. She looked down and noticed that she had apparently changed into her civvies while she'd been wandering around like a zombie; jeans and a durable canvas shirt. 

Charlie looked back up at Phil. “I need my horse. I have an errand to run.”

~***~

It had been a long day. The new regiments should arrive tomorrow by noon, and he and Miles would send them out to the field immediately. The fresh troops would be welcomed, especially since they hadn't seen any coming into the Plains side of the line for the past six weeks. Their men would be less tired and worn than the enemy's, not a bad position to be in.

Tom's voice drifted out from one of the side rooms of the hallway. “What do you mean 'you lost her'?”

“I don't know how, Sir. She sent me to order her lunch but when I got back to the President's quarters, there was no sign of her. I've been searching the base ever since.”

Bass' steps slowed until he drew up with the room. Neville was scowling at the guard he'd assigned to Christina for the day. The young man looked decidedly green. “Major?”

Tom's head snapped towards him, the man coming to attention in an instant. “Sir, I'm sorry to report that we seem to have... temporarily lost track of Major Matthews.”

What the hell? “Explain.” His eyes landed on the guard, who swallowed hard and squared his shoulders. 

“Sir, Major Matthews sent me to give your cook her order. I did so, but when I got to your quarters, she wasn't there, Sir.”

“I gathered as much. Where did you last see her?”

“The infirmary, Sir. She went there to see Major Calder about a headache. When she came out of his office... she looked upset.”

“A headache.” Christina would not willingly go see Calder for a headache, but maybe for several ongoing days of nausea and vomiting. He'd suspected, but he had been waiting for those suspicions to be confirmed.

He turned on a heel and walked with a purposeful stride to the infirmary. Calder was just coming out of one of the three operating theaters, stopping at a basin of hot water to scrub the blood from his hands after handing off his surgical smock to one of the medics nearby. “Major Calder?”

The man straightened up, the assistant near him pouring fresh water over his hands to rinse them before handing him a towel. “Mr. President.”

“I understand that Christina came to see you, today. Of her own volition. Given her reputation for avoiding this wing, do I need to be concerned?”

He watched the doctor's eyes and, for a moment, thought he saw disapproval there. It was just a glimmer that was quickly banished before he replaced it with a smile. “Congratulations, Mr. President. It would appear that you and the major are expecting.”

Whooping for joy would be undignified, no matter how much he wanted to. He managed to hold it back to a broad grin before clasping the surgeon's arms firmly. “Thank you, Calder.” He released him and stepped back. “Any idea where she might have wandered off to? She appears to have given her guard the slip.”

Calder frowned. “I would hope she was sleeping.”

“She wasn't there.”

There it was again, that brief trace of disapproval that vanished as quickly as it came. What was setting off the man? “Have you tried her room in the officers barracks, Sir? She was complaining of a headache. Those quarters would be all but deserted in the day. Quieter.”

“Good point. I hadn't thought of that. Thank, Major. And I'll try to convince her to be more cooperative with you until time for us to head back to Philadelphia.”

“I wasn't aware you were capable of miracles, Sir.”

Bass laughed. He was too happy at the moment to be too concerned with Calder's apparent dissatisfaction of Christina's pregnancy. It really didn't matter to him what the man thought about it. Miles was likely to bitch about it, he'd already gotten rather fond of having an attache and Bass had noticed that he'd taken her under his wing as something of a protege, but he'd get over it.

He made it to the officers barracks and to the room assigned to her on the second floor. She wasn't there, but her uniform was. Empty and discarded over the bed. A drawer on her dresser was partially open and he pulled it open the rest of the way to see a few pairs of jeans and some shirts, all folded neatly within. He looked around the rest of the room too see if he could tell anything was missing. He'd only been in here once, and that time because she'd been on her last day of bed rest and was getting tired of not having any clothes. He hadn't wanted someone else pawing through her underwear, so he'd collected her things on his own. 

The crossbow and quiver she kept hanging on the wall to the left of her bed was gone. So was the pack that had been resting on the floor by the militia issued desk. He checked her uniform and the sword belt, scabbard and blade she usually wore were missing as well. His brow furrowed as he turned and left the room. 

Tom had his people search the base again. Miles kept him in the war room with him under the pretense of needing him to discuss strategies with, because it would be bad for anyone to think he was being babysat by his best friend so he didn't go on a rampage. It was nearly another two hours before Tom came in with two men; a gunny and a sergeant.

“Mr. President, General, this is Gunnery Sergeant Jenkins and Sergeant Phillip Briar. The gunny is the stable master for the base and Sergeant Briar is attached to the Sixteenth Regiment as part of the cavalry.”

Miles looked at them with a placid expression. Bass' eyes flicked behind them briefly as Colonel Dixon arrived, only to come back to them. “You have something?”

The gunny gave a short nod. “Yes, Sir. The Major's horse is missing from the stables. The sergeant here was there when she came for it.”

Miles looked at the younger NCO. “She say anything?”

“Just that she had an errand to run, Sir. She didn't elaborate any further.”

“And she just rode out on a Militia horse without anyone noticing?”

The gunny stepped in. “Spirit is her personal mount, Sir. I agreed to let her house him in the base stables instead of having to house him in the city in exchange for being allowed to let him cover some of the mares. He's an excellent animal; Plains bred war pony given to her by a Lakota tribal leader. I don't have anything in my stables that can keep up with him, so I wanted the opportunity to breed him with some of our best stock for improvements.”

Dixon looked uncomfortable. “How was she dressed when she came for him, Sergeant?”

“Sir?”

“How was she dressed?”

Briar looked a bit confused by the question. “In civvies, Sir. Jeans and a plain shirt. She was carrying a pack and a crossbow.”

“How was she wearing her hair?”

The sergeant blinked. “Uhm... braided. Two of them, pulled over her shoulders.”

Dixon and the gunny exchanged a look. Bass caught it. “What is it?”

“That's how she dresses when she takes one of her trips into the plains to meet with the Indian Nations. I think she's crossed the battle line, Sir.”


	5. Chapter 5

Bass studied the foal. She was a pretty thing. Lean and strong of limb with a painted coat like her sire. The stable master was pleased. She already showed promise. She should grow up to be swift and hard wearing, just like Spirit.

He would have her sent to the Capitol once she was ready. She'd was too pretty to pass up.

Someone came out of the tack room. He turned his head to see Sergeant Briar. The man froze, like a deer caught in headlights. "It's alright, Sergeant. I'm not shooting people today." He hadn't shot anyone. Miles had kept him in lockdown until he'd calmed down enough not to be a danger.

"Yes, Sir." The man set about putting fresh oats into the feed pails hanging from the various stalls. A good cavalry soldier knew how to keep the horses. That's why the men in a cavalry unit all spent time on stable duty.

Bass went back to watching the young foal nosing about the paddock. Dixon said it usually took three to four days for Christina to reach her contacts in the tribal nations. So far she'd been gone two weeks. The new regiments were helping, but they were tired from the march and the men already here were tired from the siege. They were gaining ground, but the stubborn sons of bitches refused to break.

"You know, Sir, she was never good at listing to anyone."

Bass looked over to the sergeant. "I'm sorry?"

"The major. We grew up in the same village. Up in Wisconsin."

Interest piqued, he turned to face the man fully. "You did?"

Briar gave a chuff of laughter. "Yeah. She was something even back then. Never met a cave or abandoned vehicle she didn't want to explore. Never met a bully she didn't want to pound into the ground. Took one on when we were kids, he was older and bigger and broke her arm on three places, but she still won the fight." He paused, considering. "The rest of us were all a bit afraid of her after that."

Bass found himself smiling. "So she's always been this way."

"Always. Gets it from her mother. They'd butt heads all the time. Charlie and Rachel would get to fighting over something and you could hear it from half a mile outside of town."

He froze, not sure he'd just heard what he thought he'd heard. "What did you say?"

Briar shrugged. "Her and her mom fought a lot. Never met a teenage girl who didn't fight with her mother."

"No, what did you just call her?"

The other man blinked, then winced. "Ah, yeah. I...she changed her name when she got conscripted. No big deal. A lot of people do. Christina was originally her middle name. Her first name was Charlotte, but everyone just called her Charlie."

"And her mother's name is Rachel." Briar was looking confused, but he nodded. "Come with me."

Bass walked from the stables, across the parade ground and into the main building of the fort. It never crossed his mind that Briar might not follow. Fortunately for the sergeant, he was conditioned to follow his superiors' orders even when they were acting a bit oddly. People saw his face and scattered. Later he would note that it was a bit nice to channel his inner Miles.

At the moment, he needed the real Miles. He walked into the war room, ordering Dixon and Baker out, the sergeant in his wake. He waited until the door was closed behind him before he spoke. "Tell him what you were just telling me."

Briar looked from him to Miles. He swallowed. "I was telling the President that I know Major Matthews from before. We grew up in the same town. I...mentioned that she changed her name when she enlisted. Christina was her middle name, her original name was..." The man trailed off. Bass saw him staring at Miles as it finally clicked. He swallowed. When he resumed speaking his voice was a bit shaky and just a few decibels above a whisper. "Her name is Charlotte Christina Matheson."

Miles' usually thunderous expression turned to one of surprised. He looked from Briar to him. Bass nodded. "Apparently her mother's names 'Rachel'."

"And Ben?" Miles fixed the other man in place his a new glare. "Where was this?"

"Sylvania Estates in Wisconsin, but they're not there." Briar was standing straight. "They left in the middle of the night, barely a day after she was nabbed. Both her parents, her brother, Ben's new wife, Maggie and the school teacher."

Miles tilted his head a bit. "New wife? He's not with Rachel anymore?"

"No, Sir. They...split up, but they kept it civil. Ben Matheson took up with Maggie, a doctor from England who got stuck here when the Blackout hit."

The General seemed to be processing all of this. "The school teacher, what was his name?"

"Aaron Pittman, Sir."

Miles nodded. Bass watched him, waiting. After a moment Miles came closer, looming menacingly over the sergeant. "You don't mention this to anyone. Not a soul. Do you understand?"

Briar nodded. "Yes, Sir."

"Dismissed." He waited until they were alone before speaking again. "Have fun banging my niece?"

"Yeah. A lot." Bass swallowed. "She was right there, in our own damn militia for the past seven years and we never saw it."

Miles had turned to his temporary desk, reaching into his pack and pulling out a leather bound journal Bass recognized. It was the book Miles recorded every scrap of information he found on his missing family. He began to flip through the pages. "Neither of us have seen her since before the Blackout. She was, what, four? Why would we connect it? Clearly she knows who we are and that we've been looking for them. Why else would she have given a false name? We know she's clever. She must have reasoned out we were probably watching the conscripts." Which they had been. She'd bought her family time to relocate and hide.

Bass rubbed his forehead. "It wasn't commitment she was afraid of; it was being discovered. No wonder she fought the promotion. She didn't want to be assigned to you."

"Smart of her. The more she's around us the more likely she is to misstep." He tapped a page. "Here, from when I caught up with them and they vanished rather than come join us. We questioned the locals after they disappeared and they mentioned they'd taken a family friend with them. A man named Aaron Pittman. No mention of a Maggie, though."

"You think Pittman had something to do with the power, too?"

"That or he's one of Ben's strays. He was always taking in people and animals needing help." Miles flipped to a blank page and began writing down the new information. "So he and Rachel finally called it quits. That took longer than I'd expected."

"Briar didn't say Rachel moved on. Or maybe she did. That Pittman guy?"

Miles made a noncommittal grunt as he wrote down his notes. Bass had taken a seat in one of the chairs, pouring himself a whiskey. He turned the glass in his hand, his mind still turning. "Miles?"

"What?"

"She's pregnant."

The sound of the pencil stopped. He could feel his best friend's eyes on him. "How'd you let that happen?" Bass drank from his glass, still not looking at Miles. "You wanted it to happen. You idiot."

Yeah. He was an idiot.

~***~

The binoculars were old military issue. Joseph Ten Trees had gotten them during his career in the marines. He'd enlisted at seventeen to get off the res and had stayed in twenty-five years, making it all the way to gunnery sergeant. The Militia had gunnies, too, likely because her uncle and Monroe had been Marines, but they got to their rank faster than Ten Trees had. Probably because turn over in the Militia was high.

Miles was a general. Monroe was president. Joseph Ten Trees was a Lakota war chief. Not by choice. He'd gotten ramrodded into the job because of his military experience. If he had his way, he'd stay home and play with his grandchildren.

Charlie handed the binoculars back to their owner. "I told them the men were too damn tired. And the plains tribes are too desperate. I'm not seeing as many rifles as before. Georgia must be pulling its support."

Ten Trees studied the field. "Still a lot of men there. The Pretenders don't give up easy."

"They're digging their heels in. Pride, do you think?"

"Most likely. Their leaders don't want to admit they haven't got a chance without Foster's backing. We should probably go down there and help them save face."

Charlie rolled over onto her side and studied the old Indian. "You do this and the Pretenders aren't going to be able to ignore you any longer."

"We've discussed that. The tribal leaders are of the opinion that it's time to let them know that this is our land. If the want to stay in the plains, they need to be polite."

"Okay. I just want you guys to be sure."

"Are you?" The weathered soldier looked at her with dark eyes that seemed to pierce into the soul. "You do not have to ride with us. The warriors would understand. Many of them don't like the idea of you putting yourself in harm's way as it is. Not in your condition."

She sighed and took the binoculars back. "I'm pregnant, not dying."

"Have you ever told anyone other than me the truth?"

She gave a short laugh. "No way in hell. Spreading the truth around would have increased my chances at being found out. I'm already in enough trouble."

"For crossing the border."

"That, and because I'm pretty sure the bastard knocked me up on purpose."

Ten Trees studied her. "If you didn't want a baby, why did you go to his bed?"

"Couldn't think of a good way to tell the president I wasn't interested. I didn't count on him hooking harder than heroin."

"You still want him."

"Part of me does. The part that wants to ride down there and crawl back into his bed." She looked over at her friend. "And there's another part of me that wants to ride down there and put a bullet between his eyes."

Joseph gave her a lopsided smile. "This is where I should pull out the Wise Old Indian bullshit."

"What does the bullshit have to say about this?"

"That your spirit is in two parts. One is a woman, and the woman wants a family and a home. The other part is a warrior, and the warrior wants to do battle to protect those who cannot fight for themselves. This man has put the two parts of your spirit against one another, put them out of balance. This isn't good. You must find balance with yourself before your can find balance with another."

"And that's bullshit."

"Yeah. It essentially says that a woman can't be a warrior. My father would be the first to tell you that my mother was scarier than he was. My wife is scarier than me. I may be the big, bad war chief, but she tells me to jump and I start hopping."

Charlie covered her mouth to catch her laughter lest it drift down the a outcropping where they hid and reach the ears of the enemy soldiers below. Ten Trees waited, grinning, until she regained control of herself  
"That's better. What do you say we go down there and give The Pretenders a good reason to run?"

Charlie nodded. "I think that would be an excellent idea."

They would gave been there sooner, but trip down had been spent gathering bands of warriors from other tribes. There were other war chiefs and enough shamans to bless every man, woman and child on the continent. Dances and beautifully sung prayers to be done. And inter tribal business to attend to while they could take advantage of so many tribal leaders being in the same place at the same time. After the Blackout many of the Amerind tribes had gone back to the old ways and traditions, and they were stronger for it.

So when they rode down onto the backside of The Pretenders' battle lines, they were nearly nine hundred strong. Each was mounted on a tribal bred war pony and each had been taught how to fight while mounted. They were completely unexpected and the traditional war cries served well to disorient and confuse, the noise making it seem as though their numbers were far greater.

The line broke. It shattered under the confusion and chaos of being hit from two sides. One leader tried to rally the men to stand their ground, and he might have succeeded had Charlie not ridden up to him and brought her sword across hid shoulder and neck with her full strength augmented by Spirit's momentum. His men fled at the sight of his life's blood pouring from him.

Most of the warriors gave chase. This had been part of their plan. The nations were serious about establishing their dominance of the plains. Ten Trees' men would remain, as it was their tribe with whom Charlie had begun this alliance. Ten Trees would meet with Monroe and Matheson to discuss the day and the future.

Charlie was high on battle and adrenaline. She watched as the warriors she'd brought with her scattered the siege forces. The Militia forces seemed dumbfounded. She searched and found Caleb amongst the faces and gave him a look that clearly said 'what the hell are you waiting for?' He shook himself out of his daze and met her expression with a fierce grin before ordering his men to give chase as well. Other officers followed suit and the Militia surged forward to help route the enemy and push them far from St Louis.

She didn't really think tad battle high gave her thy hyper-awareness, but she swore she could feel the weight of eyes upon her. She turned to see Miles coming onto the field his dark eyes seeking her out with uncanny precision. He gave a quick, sharp motion that needed no verbal accompaniment; get your ass over here. Yeah, she knew he'd be pissed. There was no avoiding that and she would have hoped it meant a demotion back to captain, or even a dishonorable discharge, but that wouldn't fix her other problem.

"Is that him?" Ten Trees squinted towards the spot where she was looking.

"No, that's the one I'm related to. He looks a little mad at me."

The war chief gives a chuff of laughter. "So it would seem. You may have to pull out the blood relative card to get out of this one."

"Not unless I can't avoid it." She couldn't take her eyes from her uncle's. She could feel the anger pouring from him. It was like a hot, dry wind flowing over the battlefield. He made that 'get over here' gesture again. She bit her bottom lip, weighing her options, when another figure slipped out of the chaos to stand next to Miles. "That's him."

"Huh. I thought he'd be taller."

"He just looks short next to Miles. My uncle gives new meaning to 'tall and imposing'."

Bass was staring at her. She couldn't really see the blue of his eyes from this far a away, but she knew it was her he was looking at. He moved as to take a step forward but Miles reached out to stop him, a single hand on the dark fabric of his uniform.

Ice curled in the put of her stomach. "They know."

Ten Trees gave a nod. "You knew they'd likely find out some day. You said there's at least one soldier who knew you from before here."

"Should have killed him."

"You would not have done that. It is one thing to kill in battle. It's another to murder someone in cold blood. You are not a murderer." Both men were watching her. She could almost see the thoughts churning in their heads. "What are you going to do?"

"I don't know."

"What does your heart tell you?"

She watched Bass across the battlefield. She couldn't see his mouth moving from here, but she thought she could hear his voice carried on the breeze. 'Come back.' "My heart tells me I'm not ready to be stashed behind stone walls and an army of bodyguards." A smile tugged at her lips. "I'm not ready for bit and bridle."

"Then don't let them try and break you to one."

"I leave, and there's nothing standing between you and them."

Joseph gave a snort. "We just broke the siege and we're chasing off the rest of the attackers. Their soldiers will be able to return to their families because of us. They wouldn't turn against us and lose face before their men." He gave her a smile. "Just because I'm a crusty old soldier doesn't mean I don't know how to play politics."

She saw Bass' head tilt slowly to one side. The meaning was clear. A single word. Don't.

Charlie's smile returned, bright and mischievous. "Good luck with that." She turned Spirit around and shot him forward towards the interior go the Plains Nation. She heard deep male voices shouting behind her and laughed as the wind rushed over her.

If Sebastian Monroe wanted her that badly, she was going to make the bastard work for it.

~***~

Bass saw the mass of mounted riders headed hard towards the siege line from behind the enemy forces. He put the binoculars to his eyes, taking in the sight unfurled before him. Hundreds of riders. Most of them had dark, red-brown skin with black hair. Their clothing was a curious mix of pre-Blackout salvage and native themed garb. Bone pipe breast plates had been affixed to what looked like old Kevlar vests and they carried an assortment of bows, axes, swords, firearms and vicious looking clubs.

When they hit the siege line it was without mercy.

He scanned the riders' lines. She wasn't hard to spot. Her golden hair and fairer skin stood out starkly amidst them. She'd ditched her militia saddle and tack, riding with a blanket and slighter harness as the Amerind riders used. It cut down on the weight and restrictions, allowing the horses to move with greater agility and speed.

He watched her as she cut down a plains officer, preventing the man from rallying his soldiers. The siege line was already crumbling.

Bass put down the binoculars and hurried from the field command tent. He made his way through the wounded and non-combat personnel until he finally reached Miles' side. By the time he got there Charlotte was sitting astride her horse next to another rider with a type of headdress that most likely signified him as a leader. "What is she doing?"

"Disobeying a direct order. Again." Miles was trying to keep himself in check, but his voice was a growl.

"She can't hear you from here."

"She's not stupid! She knows damn well I just told her to get over here. Twice!"

He watched her. The sun made her hair glow like gold fire. "I'll talk to her." He made to move forward but Miles caught his arm.

"Are you nuts? You're the reason she took off on the first place. You'll spook her."

She was still talking to the man at her side, but her eyes were still trained on them. Bass couldn't hear what she was saying, could see her face clearly enough to read her lips, but something about her body language shifted subtly. He cocked his head to one side. "Don't."

"What?"

"She's gonna run." As soon as the words left his mouth she whirled the greased lightning bolt she called a horse around and took off in the opposite direction. He called out "Charlotte!" the same time Miles yelled 'Charlie.' He thought the wind carried back her laughter to his ears as the dust kicked up by hooves swallowed her from view.

Miles swore violently before barking orders for riders to follow her. They wouldn't catch her. The ones still able to ride weren't saddled and ready to go. By the time they were, Spirit would be far in the lead.

Later, after he and Miles had put on their company manners and had met with the tribal leaders, Bass waited in the war room. Jeremy, Tom, Dixon and Strausser were there. Miles stormed in later, fury practically pouring from him. 

Bass took a breath. "Miles..." He didn't get any further. His best friend's fist connected with his jaw, sending him to the floor. The room became as quiet as the grave.

"I cannot begin to described how pissed I am at you right now. This wouldn't have happened if you'd been thinking with your head instead of your dick!"

Bass picked himself up off the floor. He knew what the others were thinking. Well, what Jeremy, Tom and Strausser were thinking. They were thinking that Miles had never done this before. Not where it could be seen. Sure, they'd had fights before, but not in front of the men, and never with witnessed violence. They were probably wondering which of them would be the first to order the other's execution.

Miles braced his hands on the map table. The effort to regain control was practically visible. It was some time before he spoke again.

"Major Christina Matthews real name is Charlotte Christina Matheson." The name seemed to fill the entire room. Miles turned around and shrugged. "She's my niece. My brother's oldest."

The other officers exchanged looks. Strausser just took it all in.

"The official story is going to be that she's been serving under an alias to both keep her connection to me secret for her own safety and so that she would be able to avoid the perception of favoritism. I don't think anyone can deny she's been one hell of a soldier."

They digested this. It was Tom who spoke up first. "And how do we explain the desertion?"

"Oh, we can go with the truth on that. Charlie and our a Idiot in Chief here are in the middle of a disagreement. One that she clearly hasn't calmed down enough about to be around him just yet." Miles looked like he'd love to punch him again, but he didn't. "Strausser, you put together the team you need, you go find her and you bring her to Philly. Alive."

"She's got a reputation for being stubborn. I can do alive. I can't promise unharmed."

Bass looked up. "She's pregnant. Carrying what may very well be the next leader of the Republic."

The sergeant gave a slow nod. "No more force than absolutely necessary. I will do my best to bring your family home, Sir." With that, the most terrifying man in the militia exited the room to begin the hunt.

Miles looked at the rest of the men. "We can't force anything out of the tribes. Wouldn't look good after they just did us a solid, and Chief Ten Trees says he wouldn't tell us where she went even if he knew. For now we make sure news of her true identity gets spread around to the men. Get them prepped for when we get her back."

Tom and Jeremy nodded. Dixon cleared his throat. "What if he doesn't find her, General?"

"Oh, he'll find her. Strausser is our best hunter. He'll bring her home."

~***~

"Hello on the wall!"

Sheriff Gray leaned over to peer down into the pool of light outside the gates made by four torches placed there for just that reason.

A woman stood there. She was blonde and lovely and holding the lead of what looked like a Plains war pony, right down to the hand prints painted onto the paler parts of its hide. She was smudged with travel dirt and looked weary from her journey.

"It's nearly two in the morning." He kept his rifle handy, just in case. "What brings you out here this late?"

"I'm looking for Doctor and Mrs. Porter."

It wouldn't be the first time someone showed up in the middle of the night looking for the doctor. They didn't usually ask for Charlotte Porter, though. Not that he could produce her. Charlotte Porter had been burned and buried with a good many other townsfolk after a cholera outbreak ten years earlier. "What's your business with them?"

"They're my grandparents. I'm Charlie. I'm Rachel Porter's daughter."


	6. Chapter 6

Philadelphia seemed somewhat grey and dreary. Everything did, really. He knew he only had himself to blame.

Miles was in the field, dealing with corruption uncovered in a garrison in the New York area. Charlotte's lieutenants, now captains, were doing an excellent job in helping to clean up the Militia. Not only were rebel sympathies waning, the anti-Monroe sentiments in the towns on the other side of the borders were starting to waver. It would still take time, but if they kept this up they'd have little to fear from Texas and Foster wouldn't bad able to pick a fight without incurring the wrath of her people.

Even gone she was still making a difference.

She'd be a little over six months along now. If she didn't...he couldn't even think the words.

The love tap Miles had given him in front of the officers had been nothing compared to the beat down he'd delivered once they had been alone. He hadn't put up much of a fight. He understood where it was coming from. Sure, they wanted Ben in hopes he'd be able to turn the power on. But Charlotte, she had been Miles' girl. Had been his, too. When she'd been little and Danny had been in and out of the hospital, Ben had been the one to help her call Miles when they had been stationed overseas. He'd set up her email account and helped her send messages and pictures to her uncle. 

And when she'd learned that he'd had no family to call him, she'd insisted on calling Bass, too. He'd been puzzled when Miles told him to hurry his ass up before he lost call slot. He'd ducked into the room set aside for the soldiers to have some privacy and saw the little flaxen haired angel looking back at him from the computer screen, her hair still up in a bun from her ballet class. Her face was lit up in a smile as she started talking to him. The other girls he'd run with back then, the coeds and waitresses and the occasional female soldier, they'd all been fly-by-night things. His Charlotte had been the one girl he'd drop everything else for at a second's notice. Just because she'd kept him from feeling lonely when his life had been hanging by a thread on a daily basis.

Perhaps she'd always been meant for him. He'd just had to wait until she was grown.

And he'd fucked up royally by charging forward without stopping to think what her feelings might be.

He'd managed to send Miles' little princess running. He'd deserved the beating. He'd deserved worse.

There was a knock on the door. "Come in." The door opened and courier hustled to his desk, looking tired and dust caked. Bass recognized him. It was one of the men Strausser had hand picked to go with him. He held out the wrapped note which Bass took and opened without hesitation.

_Lost trail inside northern Texas border. Movements seem deliberate. Intel?_

She must had left one hell of a puzzle if Strausser was asking for help. But if her movements seemed deliberate...

He took out a fresh piece of paper and began writing. "Get yourself a hot meal, a bath and a solid night's sleep. In the morning I want you to get a fresh horse from the stables and take this back to him." He rolled up the response and handed it over. "Good job."

He didn't wait for the door to close before he started writing a message to Miles.

~***~

When she'd turned away from the fort and headed back into the Plains, Charlie had caught up to the rest of the tribal riders and helped to chase the enemy forces further away. The main reason she did so was to lose Spirit's trail amidst the churned earth kicked up by the other nine hundred ponies. After that she'd traveled between a few different villages, paying her respects to the leaders who were most influential in getting her the cavalry she needed to break the siege line. By the time she'd found a good point to sneak across the Texas border without detection and had made her way to Willoughby, she'd been entering her second trimester.

Man, and she'd thought Maggie had been a tyrant when it came to medical care. Compared to Gene Porter, her step-mother was the epitome of laid back. The scolding a she'd gotten from him about not taking proper care of herself topped anything Major Calder had ever given her. Maybe her grandfather had gone to the same medical school.

It was another three months before the rangers showed up at the house.

Charlie was sitting in a rocking chair, fanning herself and wishing the fall cool down would hurry up and start already. Gene said that, given the timeline she'd provided, the baby would be here around Halloween and she didn't want to go through labor in sweltering heat. Sure she had almost two months, but she was the size of a house and she was uncomfortable.

Five riders reigned in their horses in front of the porch. Charlie gave them a curious once over. "You guys hurt? The doctor's out right now but I might be able to get things started until he shows."

The leader, a foreboding individual with a full, neatly trimmed beard, shook his head. "No need for a doctor. I came to speak to you, Major Matheson."

She sighed. "Well, that took longer than I thought. They're actually admitting to who I am?"

He nodded. "So our sources inside the Monroe Republic report. I'm John Fry, Secretary of State of the Republic of Texas."

"A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Fry. Would you boys like some iced tea? It's peppermint and chamomile. I don't have anything stronger. I'm afraid my grandfather is something of a teetotaler." She made to get up, but Fry waved her off. 

"If you'll tell Mitch here where it is, he can fetch it. Don't go putting yourself out on our account."

"That's sweet of you." It also made sure she didn't fetch a firearm, if that had been her attention. It hadn't been, but she'd respected the action. She told the ranger in question where to find the kitchen and he went inside the house. "So, which is pissing the General off more; that I deserted or that he was in the same room with me on multiple occasions and had no idea who I was?"

Fry arched a brow. "I'm gonna guess the second. The official word is that you were serving under an assumed identity to both protect you from his enemies and so that you could make a name for yourself."

Charlie matched his arched brow. "How's he explaining the desertion?"

"You and Monroe are fighting."

She rolled her eyes. "The man would have to talk to me for us to actually fight." The tilted her head to one side. "How long have you known I was here?"

"Since Sheriff Gray's report came in a couple weeks after your arrival. We've always known that your mother was married to Miles Matheson's brother, but we had no reason to hold that against your grandfather. No skin off our noses if one of the family managed to escape the Republic. Didn't bother us until we found out you served as an officer."

"Yeah, well, that's what you get for doing your job. The idiots kept promoting me, even when I asked them not to. Can you believe my uncle rolled over my commission? He didn't even know who I was at the time. Said I was 'good for the Republic'." She resumed fanning herself. "What a load of crap. I was Monroe's pacifier."

Fry caught himself before his bark of laughter could become a full belly laugh. The ranger came out with the pitcher of iced tea and glasses with more ice. He'd found one of the serving trays Gene used for patients he kept at the house overnight to help carry it all. She thanked him when he refilled her glass.

"Our operatives also say that you were the person instrumental in the clean up from inside the Militia. Gotta say, we really don't have a problem with that. If those assholes clean up their act, so much the better."

"They're still moving forward with my changes?" Fry nodded in affirmation. "Well, that's a relief. I expected them to drop it out of spite."

"Your uncle is too smart for that. He'd see the value in fixing the problems. As long as they stay on their side of the borders, we wish them the best." Fry downed half of his tea on one go. "Our operatives also tell us that child most likely belongs to Monroe."

Charlie sighed. The elephant on the porch. "That a problem?"

"General Carver is concerned. No one save him, Banchard, myself and my men here know you're in Texas and who's baby you're carrying, but you were considered an important officer inside the Militia. The senate would want you hauled in for a hearing, if you're lucky."

"They could take that up with my grandfather. He redefines 'mother hen'. And I was conscripted. I made the best of the hand I was dealt and did my best to instill some morals and change things for the better while I was there."

"And Monroe?"

She glowered. "Not my idea. I planned to vanish after my time was up. Unfortunately, he has a thing for young blondes."

Fry frowned. "Abuse of rank?"

"At the very least. I know people don't believe me but I really did think he'd get me out of system and move on to someone else. I didn't think he'd fixate on me." She chewed her bottom lip a moment. "I didn't tell Grandpa it was Monroe. I just told him it was a senior officer."

"You keeping the kid?"

Charlie ran a hand over her belly. "It's not his fault. He didn't choose to have an asshole for a father. I can't take it out on him." She took a breath and let it out. "And he'd be a target if anyone else figured out his who his father is. And besides, Sebastian Monroe may be an asshole, but he's a pretty asshole. Good breeding stock, if nothing else."

"Well at least someone found a use for him. You think you can keep him safe?"

"There are reasons why I sleep with a gun under my pillow. And I'm more than passable with a sword on my own. I can keep my kid safe."

Fry studied her. "What are you going to do if his daddy shows up?"

Charlie frowned. "He won't. I was careful to linger in the plains after St. Louis to mask my trail. It shouldn't be all that clear where I've gone." She could tell he thought her naive. She felt herself growing irritated, but the rattle of a wagon signaled the return of her grandfather.

Gene Porter gave the rangers a cautious look, then slid his eyes over her, checking for signs of distress or shackles, no doubt. Charlie held up her hands with a smirk to show she wasn't restrained. Gene rolled is eyes and got down from the wagon. Two of the rangers walked up with polite nods and offered to put the horses away for him. The guided the wagon around to the side where the old carport had grown into a garage.

"Secretary Fry. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Just having a visit with the Major, here."

Gene's spine stiffened. "That's not her life any longer."

"I know. Still, Carver had his concerns. So do I. I don't mind she deserted and came here for refuge, but I'm not convinced this is the safest place for her. Arrangements can be made in Austin. You've got a good reputation. The hospital would be grateful to have you."

Charlie frowned. "You want to move us to Austin?"

"There are several houses near the Capitol building that are available and would be in areas regularly patrolled by Rangers. A heavy military presence."

"You're not taking my granddaughter into custody."

"I'm not trying to. But let's be honest. Matheson is an asshole. And a selfish son-of-a-bitch to boot. You think he ain't gonna come looking for her?" Fry set his now empty glass down. "What are the chances he doesn't know where his sister-in-law came from? How long before he decides to either send someone down to poke around or sneaks down himself? I'd just feel a might better if the two of you were somewhere it'd be harder for him to get to."

Gene didn't look completely convinced. "I'm the only doctor in this. I delivered most of the people still under eighteen. I can't just leave. I've got obligations. And you're not taking Charlie."

"Grandpa..."

"No! I'm sorry, but you spent your first trimester galavanting back and forth across the Plains. As your doctor I don't want you traveling. Not even to someplace relatively close like Austin. It's too great of a risk."

"See what I mean?" Charlie gave Fry a long suffering look. Fry gave a nod.

"Well, I can't force you. And if I were to take Miss Matheson here into custody, it would do more harm than good. Shwouldn't be the first Monroe deserter Texas gave shelter to. Our own little brand of Witness Protection. Still, she's higher risk than most. We'll be increasing our patrols through this town, have my guys check up on you and make sure you're safe."

"For how long?"

"Until we think she's out of danger. We know Miles Matheson better than you. He's stubborn as hell. If he thinks she might go running home to you for shelter, he will follow. Either personally or he'll send his best to do it. Right now they're letting their people think this is just her blowing off steam, but they've gone public with who she is. The Republic and the Militia are going to expect the General's niece to come back to Philly."

Gene's jaw flexed angrily, but he didn't argue. Maybe he knew her uncle better than she'd realized. "I understand." He sighed, forcing a smile. "Well, will you gentlemen be staying for dinner? I just got paid in a couple of nice hams and cheese. I was thinking breakfast for dinner. Some nice omelets."

"Thank you, but no. We've taken up enough of your time." Fry got up from his chair. "I do thank you for the tea and your time. Someone should be swinging around in a few weeks to check in." He tipped his hat towards Charlie. "Welcome to Texas, Miss Matheson. If there's anything I or President Carver can do to make you feel at home, please don't hesitate to ask."

She smiled at him. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Secretary Fry. Stop by and say 'hello' if you're in the area again."

"I'll be sure to do that."

The Rangers left with polite murmurs and a good amount of trademark Texas swagger. Gene didn't relax until they were out of sight. 

"It's okay, Grandpa."

"I was hoping they wouldn't know they were here."

"It was only a matter of time." Charlie stared at the empty road, a slight furrow between her brows.

"What?"

"Something Miles said to me once. Monroe has his intelligence assets in Texas and Georgia. They have theirs inside the Republic. Fry said that only Carver, Blanchard, himself and the rangers he brought with him, a few select rangers, know who I am and where I am. That can't last. Eventually someone will hear the wrong conversation or see the wrong document. It'll get out."

Gene swallowed. "What do we do about it?"

Charlie worried her bottom lip slightly. "I've put you in danger by coming here."

"You're not going anywhere."

"Grandpa..."

"Charlotte, you are seven months pregnant and you spent nearly four months of that under high stress and less than ideal conditions. I wouldn't recommend any expectant mother to try traveling this late into her term. And you sure as hell can't fight in your condition."

"And if the Militia shows up on your doorstep?"

Gene glowered. "They're not going to kill you, Charlie. They're not going to hurt you. Miles would want you back alive and healthy. They can come. I know they won't hurt you."

"And what if they try to hurt you?"

He shrugged. "Tell them I'm your doctor and I need my hands if I'm going to take care of you and that baby. If that doesn't work you can shoot them with that gun you think I don't know you keep hidden under your pillow."


	7. Chapter 7

_The storm woke her up. It was right atop the fort, winds driving the rain until the drops felt more like tiny knives biting at the skin. Charlie looked out thru the glass, seeing the threatening clouds highlighted every now and again by a flash of lightning that came with the loud crack of thunder. She threw the covers back with a snap and started to get up, only to have a heavy arm draped across her middle tighten in sleepy protest._

_"Where you going?"_

_"To check on the men. Less than a third of them have a solid structure over them. Just tents."_

_Bass tugged her closer. "They're fine. They're tough." Warm lips placed kisses along her bare shoulder._

_"I can't sleep in this."_

_"Then we won't sleep." He reached up and captured her lips with his. She shivered in response, her lips parting to let him in. He pulled her back down and under him, calloused hands exceedingly gentle as he traced his fingers over her skin, exploring._

Another crack of thunder woke her with a jerk. She heard the wind blowing thru the trees, a howling moan. Maybe the storm had been loud enough to keep her grandfather from overhearing anything she may have said.

Charlie turned over, putting a couple of pillows at her side to provide a comfortable resting place for her stomach. She pressed her legs together and willed the ache away. One of the books her grandfather had given her on pregnancy said that a woman's sexual urges got stronger during pregnancy. As if the weeks after she got away from Monroe weren't hell. Both after Philly and St. Louis she'd spent a lot of nights telling herself not to turn back. Not to go running back to that wide, soft bed and the beautiful man there.

She felt the life in her move. Her hand went automatically to her stomach. It was still uncomfortably hot, but apparently that was Texas for you. Just turning October and still sweltering hot. She missed the biting chill of the more northern climates. But maybe it would be better for the baby to be warm.

~***~

Bass rendezvoused with Strausser and his men at an abandoned school outside of Willoughby. It was a large building to defend, but there were plenty of exits if someone came snooping around. And the men could have some privacy with all the different rooms. He found his lead tracker and interrogator in what was the library, reading through an old copy of The Hobbit, of all things.

"Report?"

Strausser got up, looking pleased with himself. "She's here, as you suspected. Staying at her grandfather's house."

"How does she look?"

"Uncomfortable, but she's likely due sometime his month." His relief must have shown, because Strausser nodded. "She's still pregnant. And I'm fairly certain Texas knows she's here."

"Why do you think that?"

"A patrol of rangers came through town a week ago. They made a point of stopping at Porter's for a visit. It looked like something they expected."

"Damn it." If Texas knew who Charlotte was then they would notice when she vanished. It would be a rush to get back across the border, but they couldn't even think of moving before the baby was born. She was to far along to travel safely.

One of the men came back. He came to attention with a snap of his heels. Monroe nodded to him to stand at ease and let Strausser debrief him. "The doctor left his house agin. We tracked him to a place outside of town. There were other men there. Spence stayed to keep a look out."

Bass gave Strausser an arched brow. The older man nodded. "The doctor has a secret. One that he feels guilty over. I was curious. Shall we see what he's up to?"

He wanted to go straight to his house and see Charlotte, but what if Gene Porter was into something that might endanger her? "Let's."

The scout took them to what looked to be an old warehouse, for a department store if the mannequins and faded labels were a good indication. Bass doubted that the women of Willoughby knew, or cared, that there were Prada purses just sitting out in an old building a couple Miles outside of town. 

Strausser's men moved with barely more than a whisper of sound to take up positions near and around them. The scout who'd stayed to keep watch had found a way inside after he'd tried to capture a lone guard. The man's body was motionless on the ground, white foam trailing from his mouth. The sergeant noted this oddity. "What happened?"

"I won. He bit down on something in his mouth and this happened."

Strausser gave his gloves an unnecessary tug before crouching down to open the corpse's mouth for examination. "Suicide tooth. Back molar. Good work, though. Wouldn't notice it unless you knew to look for it."

That was interesting. "Sounds like Doctor Porter has some interesting friends." Bass studied the building. "Get that body out of site. Strausser, let's go see what they're up to in there."

They made their way inside, moving silently along a back hallway towards the sounds of someone being interrogated. The sounds drew them to a clutter filled back room where there were plenty of old crates to hide behind. Amateurs. They should have cleared out the room to prevent potential spies from sneaking around.

Gene Porter was easy to pick out from the men in the room. He was the older man who obviously didn't want to be there. He kept his eyes averted as the men with him were water boarding someone held down. They were asking him questions about the Rangers and their numbers in the area. When he lost consciousness the man in charge had Gene bring him back around.

Eventually they killed their prisoner. It made sense. If the guy had been allowed to live he would have gone straight to the Rangers. Still, why the hell was Porter committing treason?

They eased out of the room and made their way outside and around to where they could see and hear Gene. Strausser's men had been quietly subduing the guards while they'd been inside. The men with Porter had no idea that their guards were gone. 

"Buck up, Doc. The man was a traitor."

"He was Texas Ranger. He was just doing his job."

"He turned against the United States."

"Well, I seem to recall the top dogs of the US took off and left America high and dry. People did what they needed to in order to survive."

Bass saw the anger flash over the other man's face, banished almost as soon as it was there. "I suppose there desperate times do call for desperate measures. But make no mistake, Gene, this country will be reunited again." 

Bass and Strausser exchanged a look.

"You're meds are loaded up, Doc. MMR, chicken pox and antibiotics. Should be enough to carry you through Christmas."

"What about the gamma globulin?"

"Wasn't available."

"Not available? I have an expectant mother with a negative Rh factor and due to deliver by the end of this month! I need that serum."

"No she doesn't." The man washed the blood from his hands. "There's no risk of the baby having an Rh positive blood type. Your granddaughter is perfectly safe."

Bass felt his shoulders tensing, just as Gene's were. "How could you know that?"

"Because Monroe is A negative."

And how did the bastard know that?

"M...Monroe?"

He was now drying his hands. "She didn't tell you? Her baby's father is Sebastian Monroe. That's the real reason why Carver and Fry have the rangers coming through so often. They're worried the entire Militia will storm their border to get her back. She was rather popular in St. Louis. Hell of a soldier. Good, strong officer who looked after her men and got them home safely. It's no wonder she caught his eye."

"No, all she said was that it was a superior officer."

"Well, you don't get much more superior than the despot running the region you grew up in." Now he was just needling the older man. "But, everything worked out. She got away from them. She's safe and sound here in Texas and as healthy as she'd is she'll doubtless give birth to a healthy baby. With any luck, we'll have the country back under the US flag before he's old enough to fully comprehend the difference. Smile, Doc. You got your granddaughter back, safe and sound."

Gene left as quickly as he could manage. They knew where he lived, so that wasn't much of a concern. Bass looked towards Strausser. "Let's round up the rest of them."

~***~

Strausser's boys were sure to rip out the molars that looked less than real, thereby preventing the chance of another suicide. They got them to the school and secured them inside the old gymnasium locker room. The leader they took with them, Bass, Strausser and two of his most sturdy thugs. They made their way to Porter's house. It was late by then, but there were still lamps lit inside. They secured the man inside the garage-turned-barn, leaving one guard while Bass, Sergeant Strausser and the other soldier walked in through the back door.

Porter was at the desk in his office, looking over a thick medical text. "Charlie, is that you, Sweetheart?" He straightened up from his hunched position, pulling off his glasses as he turned. "Are you having trouble slee..." His face paled when he saw who was standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Gene. It's been a while. I think the last time I saw you was when...Miles drug me home with him that last Thanksgiving before the lights went out."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm pretty sure you know the answer to that." He motioned to the two men behind him." this is Sergeant Will Strausser and Corporal Foxbury. They'll be making sure the house stays safe tonight. It's late. You should get some sleep. You're hardly going to be useful to Charlotte if you work yourself to death." He gave the man a smile. "Don't worry. I'll show myself up."

He turned away from the office and walked to the stairs. The bedrooms would be upstairs. She would be upstairs. It was all he could do to keep himself from running up the steps and start throwing open doors. He held himself I check by reminding himself that this was Charlotte, and she wasn't a slouch with a firearm. So he checked the open doors first, which proved to be a good idea. The windows in the open rooms were open as well, allowing a breeze to blow through and offer what cooling effect possible. 

She was asleep in a double bed, her nightgown a thin, muslin number that had ridden up to just above her knees where she had hitched her leg up over a couple of pillows for comfort. The light from the full moon shining through the window illuminated her, making her glow like an exquisite statue. He stood frozen in the doorway, just grateful to see her again.

He didn't wake her. Instead he shrugged out of the denim jacket he was wearing and draped it over the rocking chair that rested between the bed and a matching bassinet. Both looked newly crafted and had been carefully sanded to satin smoothness with mint green bedding and padding. He was quiet as he moved the chair so that it faced the bed fully and sat down. It was late, after all. They could talk in the morning.

~***~

She tried to be stealthy about it, but the man had ears like a damn cat.

"I should tell you that Sergeant Strausser is here, watching over your grandfather to make certain he doesn't do something stupid. Like send for the rangers."

He didn't even open his eyes. He didn't even twitch! No sign whatsoever he woke up. "You set Strausser on my grandfather?"

"He won't touch him. He's just here to be imposing. He does that very well. Miles ordered him to find you after you took off." He did open his eyes then, looking at her with an expression she could quite decipher before holding out his hand. She sighed and released the trigger gently before slipping the pistol from under her pillow and handing it over, butt first. Bass accepted it and set the safety before setting it on the night stand. He didn't eject the magazine. "I owe you an apology, Charlotte. Well, more than one."

That was unexpected. "Really?"

"Yeah." He sat up and forward, elbows on his knees and fingers laced loosely before him. "I was an ass. I should have talked to you, told you what I was feeling. Instead I plotted, schemed and manipulated you to get what I wanted. You deserve better than that. I should have treated you as an equal, not like some conniving, ladder climbing socialite."

She looked skeptical. "And how long did it take you to come to that brilliant deduction?"

"Less than twelve hours after you took off. Then I had three days of bed rest to let it sink in."

She frowned. "Bed rest?"

"Yeah," he responded as he ran a hand thru his hair. "Miles beat the crap out of me. I had it coming."

She leveraged herself up onto her elbows. "Miles beat you up."

"Of course he did. Do you remember anything about us from before the Blackout?"

She blinked. "Sometimes. In little flashes, I was just a kid. Still trying to figure out why you were in a box."

He grinned. "That's probably from when you'd skype with us while we were deployed. You didn't want us to be scared, so you'd talk to us whenever you could."

"I didn't want you to be scared?"

Bass shrugged. "That's what you said. You were concerned we'd be scared over there in the desert without our family, so you'd make certain to call us whenever you could so we'd know we weren't alone." He smiled, but it was sad. "You have no idea how many times you saved my life back then. That last deployment I was suicidal. I'd just buried my parents and baby sisters after a drunk driver crashed into them. Miles found at their graves in the middle of the night with a loaded gun and a bottle of whiskey. He kept me from doing something stupid that night. And those phone calls and emails from you kept me from doing something stupid on the battlefield just in hopes of ending it all." He took in a shaky breath. "I kept living just to get that next phone call. To see your face and let you tell me about your ballet class or how we were all three in trouble because you hit the bully in you pre-school class when he tried to take your lunch and it was me and Miles who had shown you how to make a proper fist to begin with. Your parents were a bit put out over that one."

She was watching him carefully. "I remember that. You showing me how to throw a punch. You let me practice on your hand. And you'd pretend it hurt."

"It did hurt. You had sharp knuckles."

She worried her lip. "You can't just make everything all right with 'I'm sorry,' Bass. You overstepped."

"I know. I don't expect you to forgive me overnight, and I'm not going to swear I won't do it again. I've been in charge for so long, you'll likely have to kick my ass quite a bit before you break me of my bad habits. Guess it's a good thing you don't take shit off of anybody. Not even me."

"I'm pissed at you."

"You should be. You deserved better than what I gave you. But I'll spend the rest of my days trying to make it up to you." His eye were shining with tears he wouldn't let fall. "I'm just...I'm asking for a chance. Give me a chance to make things right, Charlotte. Give me a chance to be better. You fixed the screw ups Miles and me made with the Militia. You showed us how to make the Republic better. Show me I can be better, too."

Damn him. No wonder people fell in line behind him like they did. And damn her for wanting to get up and crawl into his lap, curl into him and never let go. "I'll think about it, but you're gonna have to start by keeping your attack dog in check. He harms one hair on my grandfather's head..."

"And I'll put a bullet in his head myself."

She was still for an extended moment before giving a slow nod. "I'll see what I can do."

He let out a shaky sigh, his hands running through his hair. "Thank you. I know I don't deserve it, but thank you." She thought she heard a sniff. "It's not even dawn, yet. You've got to be tired."

"Yeah, well, your son keeps kicking the crap out of my kidneys."

"My son, huh?"

"Well, my son wouldn't be that mean to his mother." She winced as she shifted her weight and tried to get comfortable. "Definitely your kid." He got up from the chair and started taking off his shirt. "I am so not in the mood right now."

"Me neither, but I can at least do my job. Budge over." She frowned at him. "Move over, Charlotte. You'll find me a better support than those pillows. This is one of the few things men are good for during the pregnancy. This, foot massages and jumping to expectant mother's every request."

She gave a snort of laughter. She couldn't stop herself. But she did move over as he took the support pillows from between her knees and moved them to the head of the bed. He stretched out on his stomach next to her, allowing her to use him to brace her stomach, her leg bending to rest on his upper thigh.

"I'm still pissed at you."

"I know. I'm not pissed at you, though. Actually, I'm glad you had the guts to do what you did. I'd steamroll over a submissive woman. I need someone who can deflate my ego and remind me to stop and think about what others think and feel. Your uncle isn't exactly the best example for that. You'll probably have to kick his ass, too."

"Is he here?"

"No. He was in New York when the courier from Strausser arrived saying he'd lost your trail in North Texas. You really stumped him, but I remembered that your mother came from here. You were alone and pregnant. I figured if your folks had told you about your grandparents then you might cone here where you'd have both family and a medical professional to help you out. So I left instructions for Miles to take care of the Republic until I got back."

She hesitated. "It takes two and a half to three months for a single rider to get from Philly to here depending on how hard they push themselves. You'll be gone a minimum of six months."

"Yeah?"

Charlie shook her head. "Miles does not want to be President. He's gonna kill you for this."

Bass shrugged and she heard him yawn. "Probably. Maybe not. By then I should be able to distract him by putting his great-nephew in his arms. Can't shoot me if he's holding a baby."


	8. Chapter 8

How Bass and his men managed not to set off the Rangers, she had no idea. She thought that her grandfather would have managed to rat them out at the very least, but after finding Bass in her bed the morning after his arrival, Gene Porter had apparently decided that getting the father of her baby arrested and executed for war crimes might ‘upset her’.

Apparently he was concerned that being discovered to be helping some shadow military claiming to be working for the US Government was upsetting enough. And he’d be right in that respect. She couldn’t believe her grandfather had taken part in interrogations. Wasn’t he supposed to have taken some oath or something that would preclude such behavior?

Now, Strausser, that son of a bitch was known for being more than a little cruel. And he got Shaw and his men to sing like canaries. Bass had not been pleased to learn that there was a power hiding out in Cuba just waiting for a chance to come up and sweep in to the rescue. All they were waiting for was the right combination of leaders and powers to come into being that they could manipulate into doing something really horrific. He was even less pleased to know that he was apparently seen as their best chance at getting a foothold on the continent.

“Well, to be fair, you and Miles are kind of out there.”

He gave her an irritated glare. “We’re doing better.”

“Yeah, but people are still scared shitless of you.”

“Not as they were.” He took a drink of whiskey; he’d had to send one of the guys out to get it because Gene Porter really was a teetotaler. An odd habit for a man dating the local bar owner. “Those ideas of yours have gone a long way into cleaning things up. And I remember what you said about growing up in the outer territories. We’ve made a lot of headway, and there’s no reason why it shouldn’t get better.”

“I was surprised to hear you decided to move forward with my ideas. I thought you’d be too angry.”

Bass frowned, his mouth making a slight pout that was completely out of character with his reputation. “Why? Your taking off was my fault. I told you I had already realized that.”

“And that Miles beat you badly enough you were in bed for three days.”

He grimaced. “And wincing with every moment for nearly a week after. He was brutal.”

“You had it coming.”

He sighed. “Yeah, I did. I really fucked things up with you. I should have talked to you, and I’m not just saying that because you’re Miles’ niece.”

It was her turn to sigh. “I know. Jackass.”

He took the epithet in stride as he reached over to run a hand over her swollen belly. “You should listen to your mother. She’s sharp as a tack. Way smarter than me.”

“No fair kissing up to the kid before he’s even here.”

“Sure it is.” He leaned back in his chair and took another pull of the whiskey. “So, what’s with the starry eyed Ranger sniffing around you?”

She shot him a glare. “His name is Jackson, and he’s very nice.”

“You’re not actually interested in that punk.”

“He’s willing to overlook my past as a commissioned officer in the Monroe Militia and the fact that I’m carrying the child of Sebastian Monroe. A girl could do worse.”

“You couldn’t possibly be considering letting some Texas hick raise my kid.”

“You weren’t supposed to be in the picture, remember? I sort of took off to parts unknown.”

Bass gave her a patient look that made her want to tear his face off. “You had to know I’d look for you. Hell, I didn’t even send Strausser after you. That was all Miles. He was beside himself when he found out who you were.”

“How’d you find out, anyway?”

“Briar. It just sort of… slipped out. He didn’t mean to blow your cover.”

She let her head fall back against the back of the chair. “I knew I should have killed him. Would have been so much easier.”

“You couldn’t have killed him. You aren’t that cold.”

“Ten Trees said much the same thing.”

Bass scowled. “He knew?”

She shrugged. “I trusted him. And several of the other tribal leaders. And they can smell a lie from ten miles off. It’s better to be honest with them.”

“I’ll keep that in mind during future negotiations. They are already making a huge dent in the Plains Nation.”

“They’ve been biding their time. I get the idea they are incensed over to so-called ‘tribes’ of white men that have sprung up. It’s insulting to them.”

“Miles noticed the same thing. And they’re a lot more straight forward than the white tribes. Big of them, considering what history tells us.”

Charlie smirked, one corner of her mouth lifting up as she fanned herself. “Yeah, but now they know to be on the look out for you forked-tongued devils.”

Gene pulled up in his wagon, one of Strausser’s men riding shotgun. The guys took turns riding with him as ‘helpers’ to lug heavy items. It kept the doc from running off to warn the Rangers or the Patriots that Monroe was here. The old doctor looked up at the porch where Charlie and Bass sat in the matched rocking chairs, his eyes wary.

“Charlie, how are you feeling today, Sweetheart?”

She stopped fanning herself and tilted her head up so her grandfather could kiss her forehead. It was his affectionate way of checking her temperature, and she’d decided months ago to indulge him this little bit of overprotectiveness. “Fine. My back hurts, but I’m fine.”

He frowned as he straightened. “Your back hurts? Where?”

She sighed. “Grandpa, I’ve got an extra twenty or thirty pounds strapped to my front. Of course my back hurts.”

Bass coughed. “Charlotte, this late in your term, a back ache can be the first sign of labor. You should have said something.”

“It’s hurt since last night. It’s nothing.”

Gene gave her a patient look that never failed to irritate her. “Sweetheart, labor can last a day or more for some women. Where does it hurt?”

She gave a long suffering sigh and told him. He nodded with sage wisdom. “It may be nothing, but it is about the time I estimated. You need to speak up if it gets worse.”

“All right. All right. I’ll say something if it gets worse. I promise.”

It was around four in the morning on Halloween when she punched Bass. He jerked awake, reaching for his side arm when he felt a warm wetness against his leg. “Charlie?”

She sighed. “I think my water broke.”

He scrambled up and out of the bed before hurrying down the hall to wake Gene. The older man stumbled out of his room in a pair of old boxers and a threadbare wife beater towards the room he’d made ready for Charlie. By the time they got there she was sitting up in bed, hands wrapped around her middle as though trying to massage the muscles out of their knots. The two men helped her downstairs to the clinic Gene kept to see patients and where he would be able to make Charlie more comfortable in a semi-seated position for the labor. 

Gene bossed his men around, setting them to various tasks such as stoking the fire to ward off the fall night chill and getting water boiling to sterilize his instruments. Bass remembered what he needed to do from when Shelly had been in labor, and he forced the thrill of fear in his gut down and away. Charlie was stronger. She was healthier. She wouldn’t face the same end as Shelly. She couldn’t.

A contraction hit her and she almost sat straight up on the bed. “Son of a bitch!”

“It’s all right, Sweetheart. It’ll pass.”

“That sucked! This sucks! I am so going to kill you for this!”

The close to five hours of hard labor went much the same way. Charlie swearing to tear off rather sensitive parts of his anatomy. Bass agreeing that he deserved every horrible punishment she was planning to give him. Gene remaining stoic and professional as Charlie brought their daughter into the world.

Their daughter. A squirming, screaming bundle with ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes. She came into the world red and angry, as though incensed at being pushed from her warm, safe home and into the harsh light and cold of the world. Her mother was damp and weary from the effort, but she reached for her the second Gene had her clean and expertly swaddled, cradling her in the crook of her arm and staring at the tiny face in wonder.

Bass swallowed, barely able to believe what he was seeing. “She’s perfect. Just like her mother.”

“I’m still going to kill you.” There wasn’t much in the way of heat in her voice. She was too stunned by what she had accomplished. 

“I probably still deserve it.” He reached out and ran a hand over his daughter’s head. “She’s beautiful, Charlotte. Thank you.”


	9. Chapter 9

The winters in the northeast were usually bitter cold with varying amounts of snow and ice between there and Texas. Because of this it was decided that they shouldn't make the trip to Philadelphia until the end of February when they would be getting home about mid-May.

Of course that meant they were stuck in Willoughby for another four months, allowing for Angela Gail to get some weight on her and for Charlie to build her strength back. 

"Come on, Charlotte. You know better than that."

"I haven't really been in any condition to practice." She shook out her hand to worry the numbness and pain out of it. It had been sloppy of her, letting her guard down that way. She rolled her shoulders and brought the sword back to the ready. 

Bass ran her through her forms and parries, pushing her just more than what her current level could comfortably meet. She didn't complain. Training in the Militia had been hard, and she had been off balance and waddling for the past few months. She sank down into the steaming waters of the claw foot tub her grandfather had rigged up to a boiler and cistern secured to the barn each night with a sigh of relief to her sore muscles, a little chagrined that she'd let herself go so much.

The door to the bath opened, causing her to tense up, her hand going to the side arm resting atop her towels. She relaxed when it proved to go Bass. "I don't think both of us can fit in here."

He assessed the tub with narrowed eyes. "Not without making a mess of your grandfather's house." He came in the rest of the way and shut the door behind him. "I've got Angie fed, changed and put down."

She winced. "I would have done that. You should have come for me."

"You were up with her half the night. Why else would Gene go through the trouble of getting that breast pump if it wasn't so I could take some of the burden off of you? Besides, I enjoy it. I love children. I've always wanted to be a dad." He crouched down next to the tub, a lop sided grin on his face. "And I like holding her. She's like a little angel."

Charlie rolled her eyes. "You're going to have her spoiled rotten to the point of being worthless."

"Father's prerogative." He reached up and pulled slightly at her hair. "Let me wash your hair? I've missed doing that."

She shook her head at him as she undid the pins. "That's an odd fetish to have."

"Can't help it. I like your hair." He took hold of the pitcher by the tub and dipped it into the water so he could wet her hair down. 

Charlie leaned back and gave herself over to his ministrations. Strong, sure fingers worked her hair into a lather then rinsed it clean. He had a way of making her feel pampered, like she was the only person in the world who mattered. Well, her and Angie.

"Are you disappointed that she's a girl?"

Bass gave a snort. "Not in the least. I'm grateful she's healthy. That you both are. That's the most important thing."

That made her smile. "You're still an insufferable ass."

"If that I have no doubt." He leaned in and licked the delicate shell of her ear, smiling at the shiver than ran thru her. "Just wait until Gene clears you, then I'll demonstrate some of my other talents."

"Not without being more careful this time. I do not want to go thru that again just yet."

"Agreed. We've got plenty of time to try for another one."

"Oh, you actually think I'm just going to slip back into your bed?"

"Technically I've slipped into yours, but I'm confident that I can eventually convince you of my sincerity. I mean, I haven't killed that damn Ranger, have I? No. I have kept out of sight and kept quiet while I've had to listen to him flirt shamelessly with you and fawn all over my daughter as though he's got his whole future as her daddy all ready planned out." She broke into giggles. GIGGLES! "What?"

"You're kind of cute when you're jealous."

He gave her hair a quick yank.

When the time does come to leave, he insists that Gene come with them. The cover story will be that he's going to a nearby town to make his rounds and get supplies. Two of the men go with him to help. The rest of them slip out of town before the rest of the town is up and wait to meet with him. Bass leaves a report of what they learned from the "Patriots" for the authorities to find when they start to investigate, leaving the clothes and emblems they took off of them before burying the bodies as proof. Might as well give Texas a heads up. This is a problem for all the Republics, and one that they may someday need to unite against.

Getting out of Texas is relatively easy, even with the size of their group. They get more supplies, horses and a wagon from one the border posts when they get back onto home soil. A couple of Spring storms delay them with holdovers and one inconvenient detour, and they don't make it to Philly until almost June.

It's still standing. Bass had been harboring a few worries on that front.

The soldiers are surprised, to put it mildly. By now the whole Militia knew of his fuck up with Charlotte. There had been speculation that General Matheson had killed him and was really taking over. Just waiting until enough time had passed that he could declare Monroe missing, presumed dead.

A runner had taken off towards his office as they came inside. Bass dispatched a few men to make sure accommodations were made ready for Doctor Porter and that someone found a crib and bedding for Angie. Through the hall came a deep, booming voice.

"It's about fucking time he showed his ass back up! I'm gonna rip his fucking head off!" 

"Come to Daddy, Sweetheart." Bass took his daughter from Charlie, kissing her warm head and bouncing her gently. "Now don't let the big blowhard scare you. He talks a good game, but he's family."

"Bass! You son of a bitch!" Miles' foot steps were loud and heavy as he stormed towards them. "You fucking leave me here to keep things going? You know I hate this shit! That's what I have you for! I oughtta pound your head in, you selfish, self-centered, piece of..."

"Aaaand, here's Uncle Miles." Bass pushed Angie at Miles. The bigger man boggled, but brought his hands up in reflex to hold her, his angry shouts sputtering to an end. He stared down at the infant who was looking back at him with wide blue eyes. Bass grinned and turned back to smile at Charlie. "See? I told you. He can't shoot me with a baby in his arms."

Charlie and Gene looked at him as though he'd lost his mind. Then Charlotte arched a brow at him. "Oh, really?" There was the ratcheting sound of a hammer of a gun being cocked. Bass turned back around to find that ?Miles had shifted Angie to rest in the crook off his left arm while leveling his side arm at his head with the right.

"Really, Miles?"

"Gene, good to see you. So she ran to you."

"She was pregnant. Medical care was important."

"Everything go okay?"

"Perfectly. Charlie's a strong girl. Came through labor without a hitch. Angela managed it well herself."

Miles bounced the baby in his arm a bit. "I'm not an expert, but she feels a bit light."

"It's been a long trip, but she hasn't lost so much as to concern me. Now that we're somewhere we can stay puts, I'm confident she'll put on weight easily."

"Glad to hear it." Miles was still looking at Bass. "So, as young as young as she is, is it going to permanently scar her if I blow her father's head off?" Bass rolled his eyes.

"She might be afraid of loud noises for a time, but I doubt she'll remember the particulars."

"Oh, nice Gene."

Miles looked behind him to where Charlie was standing. "Your call, Kid."

Silence.

Bass looked back over his shoulder. "Charlotte!"

She shrugged. "I'm still thinking."

Bass rolled his again and noticed he tense expressions of the soldiers. Strausser was leaning against a wall with a deceptive casualness, enjoying the show. "Everyone unclench! He's not going to shoot me." He glared at his best friend past the barrel of the gun. "Put that away and give me back my daughter."

Miles holstered the sidearm, but didn't give back Angela. Instead he spoke softly to her, assuring her that just because her father was an idiot didn't mean she had to be one, and walked over to his niece. He reached out with his free hand and pulled her close, placing a kiss on the top of her head. "You had me worried, Charlie. Don't ever scare me like that again." He handed her the baby. "You do good work. But, honestly, you should have just come clean with me from the start. I would have kept him off of you. Now we'll never be rid of him."

Bass relaxed. Miles would get over his anger with him eventually, though he suspected much of it would hinge on his keeping Charlie happy. "First, suck it. Second, we've got business to discuss. There's trouble brewing."

Miles frowned. " Please tell me you did not start a war with Texas."

"I don't think so. It's someone else we have to worry about. Let's let Charlie and Gene get some rest and food while Strausser and I bring you up to speed."

Miles scowled, but agreed after getting a promise from his niece that they'd talk later. Right now they had to go over what they'd learned in Texas. If they were going to keep their family safe, they had work to do.

**Author's Note:**

> Remember; comments are my drug of choice


End file.
